


roses.

by lovestained



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Adopted Children, Agender Hange Zoë, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Badass Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Badass Ymir (Shingeki no Kyojin), Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon Gay Relationship, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crying, Crying Eren Yeager, Crying Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Dead Carla Yeager, Doctor Hange Zoë, Eren Yeager Being an Idiot, Eren Yeager Has a Secret, Eren Yeager Loves Levi, Eren Yeager Needs a Hug, Erwin Smith Dies, Eventual Levi/Eren Yeager, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Gay Ymir (Shingeki no Kyojin), Gender-Neutral Hange Zoë, Hanahaki Disease, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Levi & Eren Yeager are the Same Age, Levi Needs a Hug (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi has a Girlfriend, Levi is Bad At Feelings (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi is a Little Shit (Shingeki no Kyojin), Levi/Eren Yeager-centric, Long-Term Relationship(s), Loss of Parent(s), Love Triangles, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentioned Erwin Smith, Mentions of Suicide, Mild Blood, Minor Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Minor Original Character(s), Nicknames, Nonbinary Hange Zoë, Older Eren Yeager, POV Eren Yeager, Past Levi/Erwin Smith, Please Don't Hate Me, Short & Sweet, Suicide, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unrequited Love, alena torres is underrated, but one of the people in the triangle is dead, extremely short chapters but istg its on purpose, hanahaki but way more symptoms, honestly are they okay, i added that tag ironically, i dont want to spoil but like SHIT HAPPENS, i never give them specific ages but they're like 30, no beta we die like eren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:27:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 83
Words: 26,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25489963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestained/pseuds/lovestained
Summary: mr. rose doesn't love eren. mr. rose just loves eren's roses.❀❀❀eren's life as a florist has been nothing but uneventful, and he likes it that way. ever since he disconnected himself from the only people in the world he knew, the only interaction he got was customers walking in and out, never to see again. peace was never interrupted.this was all until a rather generous man walked into his shop, asking for twelve roses.❀❀❀© 2020 ➸ philliplowercase hanahaki, following eren's view.❀❀❀read this onwattpad,if you wish.
Relationships: Levi & Eren Yeager, Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 90
Kudos: 162





	1. roses. | one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bugmotel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bugmotel/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is dedicated to my best friend, bug, for believing in this book when i was on the brink of giving it up.

"hi, welcome to eren's flowers. how may i help you today?"

"one dozen roses, please." the man said.

i wandered to the back, grabbing a bushel of roses encompassed by a diversity of distinctive flowers and presenting it to him. "thank you, sir. do you want a filler and box with it?"

"no, thank you."

"okay, sir. that'll be twenty dollars."

he gave me the twenty-dollar bill and i smiled at him. "thank you for buying, sir. enjoy your roses and have a nice day!"

"you, too." was all he said before he exited the shop and the next customer came in.  
  



	2. roses. | two

the man came in for the third time this week now, asking for a batch of roses without a filler and box, and giving me a twenty-dollar bill each time. he must be attempting to satisfy someone, judging by the way he studied the flowers.

"hi, welcome to eren's flowers. how may i help you today?"

"one dozen roses, please."

i smiled and gave him a batch of roses.

"thank you, sir. do you want a filler and box with it?"

"no, thank you."

"okay, sir. that'll be twenty dollars."

he slid the twenty-dollar bill on the counter.

"thank you for buying, sir. enjoy your roses and have a nice day!"

"you, too."


	3. roses. | three

he had come every day. today was friday, and he ordered a batch of roses since monday. at the same time, too. one in the eventide, on a moderately heated summer's day.

"hi, sir. welcome to eren's flowers, how may i help you today?"

"one dozen roses, please."

roses were artistic, indeed, but nobody had cherished them as much as this man did. roses were purchased some times, almost as much as my fleurs-de-lis, but not anymore. i had a lot of roses, so i wasn't running out, but i think i'll have to arrange a request soon.

i selected to create a quip about it. "i'm gonna run out of roses, you keep buying them like this."

he chortled. "i'm sure you have enough to share."

smiling at him, i presented him the roses and prepared the wonted method. "well, thank you, sir. do you want a filler and box with it?"

he stated his accustomed reply, which was, "no, thank you."

"okay, sir. that'll be twenty dollars."

handing me the same bill that he has since monday, i put it in the register.

"thank you for buying, sir. enjoy your roses and have a nice day!"

"you, too."


	4. roses. | four

the following week, he still appeared, similar to a satin flower, alike a weed. still asking for a dozen roses. at this point, the blessed person must be irritated about getting roses.

"hi, sir. do you want a dozen roses again?"

"you know it." he said, to which i withdrew from sight to go arrange the roses for him.

"if i may ask, who are you getting them for? they must be a very special person, you getting them a dozen roses every day. that expresses love; like you're inviting someone out."

he shook his head. "no, nobody in particular, and nobody special. i give random people roses out on the street to brighten up their day a bit. the world is cruel, and i'm trying to make it better bit by bit, you see?"

i smiled at him and gave him the roses. "you're very nice for doing such an act. roses are very expensive and extremely thoughtful. i'm so sorry for prying, though."

"it's fine. if someone bought twelve roses from me everyday, i'd want to ask questions about it too."

i laughed. "well, do you want them with a filler and box?"

"no, thank you."

"that'd be twenty dollars."

he handed me the singular bill. "thank you for buying, sir. enjoy the roses—while you're still holding them—and have a nice day!"


	5. roses. | five

he continued appearing. i rose to concentrate more on him and look forward to the margin of illumination his appearance delivered me in my solitary world, my yellow solidago.

is this how he made everyone feel?

"hey, sir. a dozen roses?"

"yeah."

i chose to request another question because the man didn't appear too bothered by me. "how do they react? when you give them a rose?"

the man beamed, showing his bright lily whites, differentiating from the mysterious orchids encircling him. "they're usually smiling. sometimes they're confused. but mostly smiling."

i giggled at that. "i don't blame them for being confused. i would be, too."

i gave him the roses. "no filler and box?"

"nope."

"well, that's twenty dollars."

he handed the familiar dollar to me and waved, not even waiting for me to say my last mantra. "have a nice day."


	6. roses. | six

the man and i had become less snippy with each other and more casual; as if we were mutual compatriots.

i had begun relishing my job further, and i had ceased lamenting opening up my flower shop. if i hadn't, i would've never faced that man.

i didn't even grasp his name, and he must've not identified mine either.

we were a pair of outsiders who were flawlessly satisfied with the other. aliens that converged more than aliens would.

"hey. the usual?" i said, to which he consented.

i've gotten habitual to inquiring regarding what he began. seldom i paid consideration, to be noble. but i couldn't get full of his behavior and how he gladdened up whenever i questioned him alike it was the pleasantest obligation ever.

he was reasonably compact, but his humanity made him seem influential and towering, like a hydrangea. his hair occurred to be divided to the right, although i discerned that some dates it was separated to the left. it was a truly unparalleled characteristic of his, and i queried if he ever prepared it to observe if anyone would discern. or perhaps he produced it merely for his personal benefit.

ordinarily, i questioned myself why i continued to pay regard to him, why i didn't plainly present him his shallow twelve roses, and wish him a satisfying day. but it signified as if he demanded me to sweeten awareness to him like he was shrieking my name, like a gardenia flower.

"have you met anyone through your... pastime?"

"no, not really. nobody cares that much to ask for coffee after i gave them a rose. it's just the way people are."

i presented him the roses. "twenty dollars. and really? i was here thinking that's how you meet everyone. through roses."

"i wish it was as wholesome and elegant as that."

he gave me the cash, and i smiled. "see you later."


	7. roses. | seven

this would be the man's third week befalling, and there was an influential development in my character that even i could accumulate. i felt so enthusiastic, so felicitous to dress up each morningtide and dish out flowers to various personages, but chiefly one in particular.

he shuffled in, and i hastily took to the counter to chat with him anew, though i viewed him each day. our succinct rendezvouses weren't sufficient, they would never be adequate. 

"hey, mr. rose." i addressed him before seizing the cradle of roses i had worked to perfect for him beforehand.

"how did it go yesterday?"

"about the same," he said. "there was one old lady who had thought i was trying to hit on her, though. took a lot to stop her from hitting me with her cane."

i tittered. i had likewise discovered myself producing more laughter following his periodic purchasing frolic.

"well, here you go. i'll wish you protection from the cane monsters."

the man grinned, heating my interiors to the supreme radiation as if i was a flower in arizona. he's smiled before, so i don't surmise why my body perceived something amiss. perhaps the season's warmth was bewildering me.

patting the money on the counter, he smelled his roses and wished me goodbye. i yearned we speak further.


	8. roses. | eight

i had sprung to do anything for a minute added dialogue, though i felt like an attention-seeking azalea. deliver him a filler and box for no cost, an additional rose, anything. i merely ached for more than the identical statements i got.

he sauntered in. i bustled to present him a lily.

"hey, mr. rose," i said, giving him the flower. he quirked an eyebrow before studying it.

"it's lovely. why are you giving me this, running out of roses and wanted to give me a heads up?" he jested.

i scratched my head. "no, never! i just wanted to show you the stunning flower that i ordered today," i twisted my words.

"well, you didn't make a mistake. dozen of roses please?"

i agreed and proceeded to go get his roses. i messed it up, but at least i listened to something distinctive. i could've gathered so much more from that cloudy, genial, invigorating voice of his.

giving him the roses, he provided me the money. before he could give me that aimless wave and goodbye, i craved to say something first.

"bye, mr. rose."

i messed it up.


	9. roses. | nine

the tender excitement i've continued gaining transpires more frequently, from each moment i viewed him to each moment he gazed at me or inadvertently touched me. it's scary.

and when i dreamt, i envisaged him. he was a daffodil, no, he was an extrinsic dahlia that demanded devotion and diligence.

i didn't own any dahlias.

"a dozen roses, please?" the man asked. i cliasped my thoughts shut to go hasten and get his roses.

i neglected to welcome him. i've wasted more communication because i was too occupied agonizing about my own sentiments. foolish.

"here, mr. rose. enjoy your cane fighting." i said, chuckling at my own anecdote. he laughed as well.

"will do," he answered as he gave me the money and disappeared.

mr. rose was a lilac. attractive and exorbitant, but wilts and deteriorates swifter than you can even utter to them.


	10. roses. | ten

the scorching point at the abyss of my abdomen built up whenever he was nearby. i was anxious. i even started misremembering to sprinkle water on some of my plants because of mr. rose, and it was terrifying. i've never admired someone more than my flowers.

i have never cherished someone. mr. rose was the first personality i've relished, and i don't even know his name.

here he was!

"hey, mr. rose," i said, that now being my customary salutation.

"hey. i got a comment yesterday from someone saying they knew who i was."

"you got a comment? hey, you must be pretty famous around here," i said, dressing his roses.

"i wonder if they know me by a name."

i smiled at him. "of course they do. you're mr. rose!"

he grasped the roses from me and gave me the dollar bill. "you must be right, i am mr. rose."

my heart trembled as he shuffled out the door.

mr. rose was an iris flower, illuminating and iridescent, even in the moonlight.


	11. roses. | eleven

"a dozen roses, please."

the man stood at my counter, my mind recalling the initial day he arose.

"okay, then." i said, leaving to get the roses. "how was yesterday?"

"good," mr. rose said succinctly. i peered up at him, but no sensation was powdered on his painting of a face.

"is there something wrong, mr. rose?"

"nothing at all, sorry for my bad mood. i'm very tired, woke up to a dozen alarms."

i tittered. "that's fine. we all have our off days."

i get a remarkably great scheme and keep my finger up while scrambling to the back and getting two additional roses.

"here. they're free of charge. to make your bad day a little bit better. that's why you give roses to people, yes?"

he beamed at me. "yeah, you're right. thanks."

he accepted the roses and gave me the money. "thank you, again. have a nice day."

mr. rose was a gerbera daisy. he made me jovial, he made everyone nearby him smiling, even if there was solely one of him.


	12. roses. | twelve

i love mr. rose.

i love mr. rose more than buttercups, cherry blossoms, and peonies.

i love mr. rose more than tulips, magnolias, and marigolds.

more than lilies, camellias, and carnations.

more than chrysanthemums, and frangipanis, and sugarbushes, and poinsettias, and-

i love mr. rose more than roses.

"a dozen roses, please. and throw in one like you did the other day, please."

i looked at mr. rose, my sights sharpening on the man with the disposition that i cherished. the atmosphere that stank of sunbeams and delight.

"why, if i may ask?" i said, making him his inquired roses.

"i got a date yesterday. gave someone a rose, they thought i was cute, and we're going out to eat later. i have to give them something classic, don't i?" he grinned.

it cracked me.

it split me into diminutive concise bits as if i were just a speculum. i felt my soul sink and collapse, and a lump begins to grow in my throat.

"oh, okay. i hope your date goes well," i said, accomplishing keeping my voice tranquil and poised, smiling at him. i stabbed that extra rose in the group, begging for it to die instantly. i never hoped for a plant to die. but now i craved every alive object encompassing me to be cremated.

"thanks," he said, giving me twenty dollars. "have a nice day."

"you... you too, mr. rose."

he is a rose. a picturesque, delicate structure that will crush your bleeding heart until it rots.


	13. roses. | thirteen

mr. rose arrived the following week, more sparkling than always.

the atmosphere glistened more colorfully, utterly recalcitrant of my illusive preferences.

"a dozen and one roses, please."

i went to go get his boutonniere, which i concluded outfitting ahead and jostled a rose in there.

"thanks," he replied, jerking it from me and handing me a twenty.

"you're four dollars short, sir."

he glanced at me with a disconcerted eloquence. "i said, you're four dollars short, sir."

"oh, okay," he said, drawing four singles from his billfold.

"thank you for buying sir. enjoy your roses and have a nice day."

mr. rose was my singular daffodil. content by themselves, more comfortable with someone else, but not with you.


	14. roses. | fourteen

whenever i noticed mr. rose, my windpipe clutched tighter by the second. all he desired was a dozen and one roses, like twelve roses wasn't adequate for him.

mr. rose constantly craved more. he continuously demanded more. why did he have to be so saccharine? why did he have such a transcendent personality, but divides your core all the same?

"welcome to eren's flowers. how may i help you today?" i questioned mr. rose. it was deplorable for me to approach him as a proper client, as he was the entirety who fragmented me into sections, but i would be no higher in interest to him than a houseplant store proprietor.

"a dozen and one roses, please."

i assembled precisely thirteen roses, them being the last ones i have left.

mr. rose bought all my roses.

mr. rose caught everything i possessed. my love, my breath, and now? my roses.

"mr. ro-" i refrained from speaking that title. he didn't deserve to be mr. rose. i didn't deserve to call him mr. rose.

"thank you, sir. do you want a filler and box with it?"

"no, thank you," he responded, not even fretting about my shift in nature. did he not worry about me? was i plainly a method to spend time? a provider for his obtuse thirteen roses?

"that'll be twenty-four dollars."

he handed me the money, procured the flowers, and left. he didn't even pause for me to wish him goodbye.

mr. rose was a daylily. he was sumptuous, admittedly, but he assuredly didn't consider you.


	15. roses. | fifteen

the mass in my esophagus got severer. i could scarcely breathe.

mr. rose arrived inside, and i attempted my amplest to gulp it down. it didn't budge.

"welcome to eren's flowers, how may i help you today?" i inquired mr. rose, my sound coming out squeakier than typical. perhaps some liquid will assist. gripping my water container, i sipped some of it, but the bulk appeared to get vaster.

"a dozen and one roses, please."

"we don't have any roses as of right now. i tried placing an order yesterday, but my supplier was all out."

"aw, that's too bad."

mr. rose moved out of the shop as swift as he had come in. was it that simple neglecting me? was he solely here for the flowers?

i arose from sniffling to softly weeping on my carpet. 

a perianth fell to the floor.

mr. rose was a decaying sunflower. sophisticated, but destroyed you inside to witness it go.


	16. roses. | sixteen

i bought fresh roses. they arrived this morning. no matter how greatly i wanted to be wretched, i hopped in merriment once the shipment vehicle arrived.

buying them evoked mr. rose into my mind, as anticipated, and there was a miniature wicked song in my head advising me not to do it, that it will secure my destruction.

i didn't want him to neglect me. i acknowledge he wasn't mine, i understand i was nothing but a florist to him, but it was my solitary attachment to mr. rose. my single guarantee that he would appear to me anew and grin at me for another time.

he stepped into the shop.

"hey, still no roses today?"

should i be inelegant or ceremonious with him? did i view him as more than a reappearing client?

yes, i did.

"yeah, actually. got some this morning. here for your thirteen roses?"

he chuckled, showing me those bright, calla lily teeth. those senseless flowers in my abdomen were watered, supplied the sunbeams of my fervor, and now in mature blossom, as i sank back in adoration with this character.

i substantially leaped back to get his roses. i hacked, the warmth in the space almost smothering my lungs.

clutching the thirteen roses and uniting them together with a rubber strap, i recognized an additional petal on one of them. taking it off, i sprinted back to the counter to give them to mr. rose.

"here, mr. rose."

he accepted the roses and fished in his wallet for the money. "and, um, only twenty from now on. you pay enough for twelve roses, yeah?"

"well, thank you." mr. rose said before he went.

mr. rose was an opium poppy. he was delightful to the heart; you could virtually never stop gazing at him, and intoxicatingly addictive. the instant you get one sound to him. you substantially never wanted to cease communicating, and you'd be sorrowful until you spoke afresh.


	17. roses. | seventeen

why were there petals on the ground? i was confident that i sprinkled them recently, and they look healthy, so why did it appear as if they were rotting? it's feasible i was overwatering.

there was no chance to dwell upon it because mr. rose gallivanted in just as i was leaving to go give the roses more water.

"hey, mr. rose," i greeted, already stepping to get his thirteen roses.

"hey. we went on a date again yesterday, and can i just tell you how sweet she is? she's a really gentle girl. driven by her dreams, she is. unstoppable if she wants something."

i worked my hardest to smile at him, but it prickled my core like i pulverized glass on it. to listen to my crush describe a different person the style i crave him to define me.

"she sounds really nice, mr. rose. i'd love to meet her someday."

why did i state that? it beat me to merely imagine there being someone other, but facing her? viewing the gentlewoman that mr. rose spent extra for? i'd crumble into insignificance.

"well, i'll be sure to bring her with me another time."

"here's your roses, mr. rose," i said, presenting them to him.

he gave me a twenty and said, "are you sure you don't want me to pay the extra four dollars?"

"yes, i'm sure, mr. rose. do you want to pay the extra four dollars?"

mr. rose simpered. "i think i'm good. thank you, have a nice day."

he sauntered out of the shop, leaving me grinning.

mr. rose wasn't a flower. he was too intense, excessively animated, additionally complex, exceedingly human to be as innocent and harmless as a flower.


	18. roses. | eighteen

i rose more aggravated by the second. mr. rose solely spoke about that woman, nothing different. he hasn't even asked my surname!

"anyway, thirteen roses, please?"

"oh, uh, sure, mr. rose," i replied, pacing to go get his roses. i wish they're living. my roses appeared to be deteriorating lately.

choosing roses that seemed perfectly nice, i left to go sell them to mr. rose.

"here you go."

he gave me a twenty. "i told her about you. she said hi, and wanted me to thank you for bringing us together for the price of twenty dollars."

i giggled, seeking to appear favorable. "well, i didn't do it on purpose, that's for sure."

mr. rose smiled. "maybe so, but still, thank you. i've never met quite a girl like her."

i nodded as mr. rose left. the instant he was gone, i started sulking, trying my best not to weep.

my throat began seizing the best of me, and i began to cough.

i felt like i was suffocating. like i was smothered in a meadow of daisies.

i ceased coughing, and i glanced to the ground.

petals dropped to the ground from my lips as i stared down, littering the floor.

i was a decaying flower. an appalling, drooping, rotting flower.


	19. roses. | nineteen

"well, mr. jaeger, we've tested you for any of the possible diseases that correlate with your described symptoms," the resident stated.

"and?"

"it was a rare case, indeed. we haven't even gotten a medical term for it yet. you show possible symptoms of the hanahaki disease, caused by the immense emotional stress of the heart."

passionate intensity? i choked up petals because my core couldn't take it anymore?

"i'm sorry doctor, this isn't making any sense."

he snickered, though it was an offensive opportunity for comedic release. "i don't, either. i was searching our index for some sort of illness that included petals, and i was going to conclude your case with walking in your sleep, or subconsciously, and eating a rose, seeing as you are a florist. i stumbled upon this disease, though, and we only have a few cases of it each year."

i agreed, attempting to concede. "is there some form of treatment?"

"not yet, mr. jaeger. we haven't found the resources and the knowledge to come up with a medicine to battle it. and since it's so rare, we don't have the money to fund research. although, all of our cases of the hanahaki disease are harsh unrequited love, and the cases end three ways."

"three ways?" i questioned.

"yes, mr. jaeger. you see, as you experience the heartbreak, flowers began to grow and develop right in your lungs, spreading throughout your entire body, which explains your trouble breathing and often having coughing episodes. the flowers themselves are the flowers that you are most connected with. you said you coughed out rose petals?"

"yes, sir. i have a client that comes in on a daily basis, and always buys roses, doctor."

he acknowledged it understandingly, but i suppose he was performing it because he was a scholar.

"well, in all of our known cases, the first choice is surgery, where we remove the stem of the roses in your lungs, but your feelings for them will also vanish. the second choice is getting your love confirmed, where the roses in your lungs will rot, sag, and vanish. or, your third option is death, where roses will cloud up your lungs and you'll die by asphyxiation. roses will continue growing in your body until there is no more space, and basically a living rose bush. well, not living, as you'd be dead by then, but i'm sure you'd make a lovely one," he remarked, softly tittering.

"this isn't the time for jokes, doctor," i replied, frowning at his inadequate attitude. he cleared his throat and aligned himself.

"right, i'm sorry. i would also recommend seeing your therapist on a daily basis, right after work. it hasn't proven true so far, but perhaps it'd make the growing go down if you had someone to talk to about it? i can write a prescription for antidepressants, pain killers, inhalers, but i'm sure it'll do nothing for your case."

"i-uh, okay," i responded.

"if you ever want to schedule a surgery date, please call us, and you'll sign papers as soon as possible, yes?" he announced with an expiatory tone, getting up from his seat. "i wish you the best of luck with your disease. not many survive from it, you know? i hate it when we encounter a disease that we have no previous knowledge of. one life in jeopardy."

i agreed, clutching my possessions. "thank you, doctor lambert."

mr. rose was my obsession, my fascination, my attraction. mr. rose was bigger than a vine to me, more compelling than a rose.

he was mr. rose and i adore him more than i do anything other. 

to allow all my sensations to go so i could resume dwelling in an actuality where i'm simply a fellow who sells people flowers? an existence where i'm nothing but a florist?

i'd sooner not remain at all than to not admire mr. rose, even if it drowned me stronger each moment i existed.

i would willingly allow my lungs suffocate from a delicate rose blossoming inside me than to never have relished mr. rose.

i would preferably shift into a sumptuous rose shrub than experience a world where i didn't love mr. rose.

yet he would never love me back.


	20. roses. | twenty

"i saw you weren't open yesterday," mr. rose stated as i left to go get his roses.

"yes, i went to the doctor."

mr. rose frowned. "oh, okay. are you feeling better?"

not really, there's no antidote. having you nearby makes me feel healthier, though.

"yes, thank you."

he nodded as i gave him his roses. "well, yesterday i decided not to get roses, and she was practically thankful. she didn't know where to put all the roses that i've given her."

"i believe she's still happy about it, you giving her flowers every day. it might be a little much, but i'd still appreciate the gesture."

i'd enjoy all your signals. to shine at me, to chuckle beside me, to live amidst me.

"well, thanks. i was thinking about going back to twelve roses."

"no, continue giving her thirteen. she'll warm up to it, i'm sure none of her other boyfriends gave her roses every day. it makes you unique."

he grinned. "you're right. thank you."

he gave me the bill and left, smiling. not for me, but it was a simper nevertheless, and i adored noticing it.


	21. roses. | twenty-one

"so, mr. jaeger, i have a report here from your doctor, dr. lambert, but i'm sure you'd like to explain it yourself to me?"

i perched down in the seat, timid about emptying myself to this casual gentlewoman that i've never spoken to in the limited life i possess.

"it's okay, mr. jaeger. may i call you eren?"

"uh, sure," i said, sitting up properly in my chair.

"i'm a certified therapist, eren, it's okay to treat me like one. or treat me not like one, as a friend. nobody's listening in on your sessions, nobody will know except me. i'm sworn to secrecy, so why not get a little comfortable with me? you've booked me every friday, right?"

"yes, sir."

"please, call me miss torres, or alena if you'd want. we're best buddies, remember?"

i agreed. "uh, yes, alena."

"so? anything you want to tell me?"

i bent my head over again, seeming ridiculous to myself.

"i, um, i got feelings for my client about seven weeks ago. he came in every day, ordering roses, twelve, at first." i said, now thinking of him. his silky, queen of the night, hair. his bright smile that contrasted so much from his shimmering desert marigold eyes, and his caring and sweet personality.

"you may continue, eren."

"uh, around the second week he came, we started getting closer."

alena inclined forth in her position. "oh?"

"yes, i was, i was charmed by his personality, and how caring he was. he bought those roses every day, not for himself, but to give out to other people. he paid twenty dollars every day just for someone else."

she smiled friendlily. "he sounds nice. is that why you fell for him?"

"of course. i knew nothing else about him. and, one day, i was going to ask him out for a cup of coffee, and-"

"he was already dating someone?"

i nodded nonchalantly. "that same day, he had asked for me to give him thirteen roses. because he wanted to give his date one."

my therapist frowned dismally. "how did you cope? did you ever cry?"

"barely, but i felt horrible. i didn't want the sweet release of tears. i'm a florist, so it's only natural for me to always look happy, right? i'm surrounded by paradise and serenity. there is nothing odder than a florist crying."

"that's no reason to not allow yourself emotion, eren. crying's a natural way of life, and everyone deserves tears."

my therapist scribbled something down. "well, are you deciding on getting the surgery? how's breathing been for you?"

"not too horrible right now, but i often cough up petals of some sort. and, no, i don't want the surgery. i love the feeling of loving someone else, and i have a feeling that mr. rose will be my first and last love. to let go of something that precious, for something as dubious, as uncertain, like life, is to kill me right now."

"what could you mean by that, eren?"

"i mean, that i'm a desolate florist who hasn't talked to someone personally since college. i have nobody to care for, nobody to laugh with, nobody to love me. now that mr. rose has walked into my life, i, i-"

the timer rung. my therapist sighed. "i think that's the end of our session, eren. we will talk more next friday? i feel like you've relieved yourself a lot for a first session. now, though i'm sure your doctor said this, i would recommend taking antidepressants and pain killers."

i agreed, taking my stuff. "and, try to stay on, eren. i know mr. rose doesn't like you yet, but give him more time, yes?"

"sure, miss torres."

she laughed. "i thought we were on a roll with alena! we'll have to come to an agreement next time, huh?"

"yes," i said, praising her before i left, sensing that tremendous block in my bosom thaw and mature to be mushy clay, but the tightness of my throat did not yield.


	22. roses. | twenty-two

the vines flourishing in my lungs didn't seem to trouble me as greatly as the resident behaved as it would. while i could sense myself fighting to breathe ordinarily, mr. rose was a breathtaking personage himself.

"hey, mr. rose!" i said, addressing him more passionately than i had always done. i needed to supply him with consideration, surely? he would at least regard me if i was solicitous of him.

"hello. thirteen roses, please?"

"sure. how'd it go yesterday?" i asked, moving to get his roses and promptly arrive back.

"well, um, she asked me out on a second date on monday."

i grinned. "where are you going?"

"we're eating lunch together." mr. rose replied, fiddling with his thumbs. i repressed my grimace.

"it seems like you're really excited about it," i stated.

"yes, uh, yeah, i am," he responded, taking the roses and handing me a twenty. "thank you."

"no problem, mr. rose," i answered, waving at him as he disappeared.

he may not relish me, or even identify who i am, however, i cherish him, and my survival depends on it. i just want him to know my name.


	23. roses. | twenty-three

"mr. rose," i said playfully.

"hey. you seem more content lately, has something happened?" mr. rose asked. it got me happier because he looked to truly give notice to me.

"well, i went to therapy for the first time. that's about it, but thanks for noticing," i answered, proceeding to get his roses.

"i'm thinking about asking her to be my girlfriend today."

"oh?" i replied, that satisfaction i had insignificant trices before dissolving.

"yes. we've went on two dates already, but we aren't dating yet. wish me luck, would you?"

"uh, of course, mr. rose." i agreed before he gave me my payment.

"thanks."

i felt briers spike my throat, although it didn't sting me stronger than mr. rose floating apart from me, my probabilities of living with him at my front slipping.


	24. roses. | twenty-four

"you have to place more value on yourself, eren."

"i do place value on myself. are you suggesting i get the surgery?" i questioned alena.

"i'm not suggesting anything. i just think that you ought to think more about it before risking your entire livelihood just for a man that may or may not love you before it's too late. there's plenty of fish in the sea, eren!"

"that's what everyone says. did you know there are more than a thousand endangered fish species?"

she ticked her pen. "just what exactly are you trying to say?"

"i'm saying that i may never find someone else. i don't believe there's anyone in this world right now that can match his beauty, his caring and precious personality, there's nobody as selfless as him."

"you're head over heels for him, eren. don't you want to live?"

i sank back in the seat. "i don't care that much about living or dying. it's just one quick switch."

alena started writing, which annoyed me all the further, though it was her responsibility, so i didn't say anything.

"ah, okay. still, eren, your life is valuable and shouldn't be wasted. if you get the surgery, you just won't have feelings for him anymore. you can still talk to him."

"i want to have feelings for him."

alena nodded and examined the time. "well, you must be off, yes? and please, please, please, please, consider the surgery. it will save your life, literally."

"i've already considered it enough and i've already made my decision, alena. i believe you especially most equipped to believe that. thank you for the time." i said irritably and got up.

i collected my possessions and left.

this therapy didn't appear to be accomplishing for me.

i didn't prize the concept of dropping everything to this aimless person who's thought to not own their beliefs, plainly for them to scrutinize my selections exactly as a commoner would, and anticipate a result?

i didn't feel comforted anymore. i didn't believe i had conclusively let something off of my chest. i felt incompetent, ineffectual.

i felt like i was feeble-minded to even imagine my layout of activity to be thoroughly produced for myself, to perform upon it. i should get that scholarly operation, and acknowledge my enthusiasms for mr. rose will disintegrate and decay. 

i thought that i desperately was required to grant my incomplete memoir to my therapist, for her to command all aspects of it because i was too extravagantly senseless to take accountability for myself.

this is healing. this is exorbitance.

healing is shameful. 


	25. roses. | twenty-five

i sprang from hacking to gasping for air near the time that mr. rose arrived in. i inwardly blasphemed myself to eternal condemnation.

he strolled in. ugh, why do i have such inconvenient timing? i was swift to step to wherever the roses were.

coughing and puffing for eternity, a clump of petals dropped on the floor.

"oh, wow," i reacted promptly before walking back to the counter.

mr. rose stood there, grinning when i arose from the back.

"i was thinking that you had closed again and that you ju—woah—are you okay? what happened to your mouth?"

i laid my fingers on my lips, tasting and touching that bold fluid, and rubbed it off my lip.

"oh, i uh, bit some skin off. sorry that you have to see me bloodied," i quipped, ponderously laughing and scratching my crown.

"it's fine, i was just worried. thirteen roses, please?"

i nodded and swore to myself once over because he mentioned it. though, it felt pleasant, the hardness in my chest calming down for a moment, recognizing that he could be anxious concerning me on occasions.

"how was it? asking her out, i mean."

mr. rose lightened when i suggested her. it was intriguing; how he was perpetually comfortable with chatting around her, and i sensed my heart that formerly fastened and clasped together whenever he mentioned her, was now numbing, growing to be accustomed to not being considered. 

i wouldn't be the character for mr. rose, so what's the meaning of begrudging the circumstance? what's the intent of despising his beloved if that aspect will never develop?

"she said she needed time to think about it, but she didn't look mad, so i'm expecting good results."

i nodded and mr. rose took the roses from my hand and gave me a twenty.

"well, i hope it comes out well."

"thank you."

i ached to dislike her, but i could only envy her. how could i despise someone if i understood that it would never succeed anyway? mr. rose doesn't fancy me, he'd barely give a thought if i oozed out on the carpet.

he'd hardly spend consideration if i stopped existing facing him, vines extending out of my mouth, shredding my tissue separate. 

he'd only entirely pay attention if i was a graceful rose shrub.


	26. roses. | twenty-six

"thirteen roses, please!" he exclaimed, scarcely storing in his enthusiasm.

"ah, sure. what's got you so excited?" i said, giving him his roses.

"she said that she'd give me an answer today! i hope it's a good one."

i walked, took his roses, and gave them to him. "you should probably be quieter about it, yeah? she won't be as excited about it if you're jumping all over the place."

he agreed and his atmosphere tranquilized down. "you're right, thanks. i can't wait for us to go on another date as partners!" he said while giving me a twenty.

"thanks for the advice! goodbye!"

"no problem, mr. rose."


	27. roses. | twenty-seven

"i don't think you're helping me, miss torres."

"aww, why do you say that?"

"you haven't been supportive of my decisions. you voice your opinion more than mine. if i wanted to have a conversation where i wasn't believed in, i would've called my parents. i came to switch therapists."

"sure, mr. jaeger. we can give you a new therapist next week. can you sit down for now?"

i nodded and sat perched in the seat.

"they aren't dating yet. but, he asked her to be his girlfriend, and she said she'd think about it. i'm sure she will say yes, as he is the most phenomenal person i've ever met."

she acknowledged me while recording what i was stating.

"sometimes, i hope that she says no. i don't want her to say no, because then he'll be sad, and i don't want him to be sad."

"that's fine, eren. you like mr. rose, don't you? it's called jealousy, and it's completely normal. the fact that you still wish him the best proves your kindness."

"why thank you," i answered, grinning to her before i quit abruptly. "but i already know that. you're teaching me something straight out of a young adult romance novel. and i don't need you to prove my kindness," i snapped. 

alena appeared aghast for a moment, though it faded off promptly.

"i want to meet her."

"then you should ask him to bring her along."

"i didn't know therapy was a regular conversation. i get enough of those every day with someone i actually want to talk to."

"you're giving the impression that you don't want a therapist?"

"yeah, to be honest, i don't. is the session over now? you don't understand me, and you don't approve of whatever i do. why did i even think about coming here? you're so... yuck." i said, seeking to appear ominous.

"the session is over whenever you want it to be, eren."

i grew from my place. "it's over right now, then."


	28. roses. | twenty-eight

"hey, mr. rose."

"i-um, hi. she, she said yes!"

i grinned, jabbing my throat a little. "uh, okay," i sighed. "wow. you want your roses?"

"yes, please."

i trudged back, hacking up some of the apparent, rubbing my lip, clutching the roses, and pacing back. "so, when is she coming here?"

"on wednesday? she really wants to meet you."

"ah, what can i say? i am the florist, after all," i said, mr. rose giving me a twenty.

"well, yes you are."


	29. roses. | twenty-nine

"hi! are you the florist?" the noblewoman said. i nodded and smiled directly back at her.

"that's me. mr. rose, here, pays my bills."

she chuckled. "i would be surprised if he didn't, buying that many roses every day."

i ran behind to grab the roses, halting for a while to murmur all classes of evils to their connection, leaves floating out of my trap like they had been resting on my tongue, thrilled to be released.

"here's your thirteen."

he handed me a twenty. "thank you."

he shifted apart from me, gazing in her brown eyes, beaming. handing the rose to her, she giggled, took it, and shook me goodbye.

"it was very nice to meet you, mrs. rose."


	30. roses. | thirty

the roses were ideal today. more dramatic than i had always noticed them.

i speculated it was due to the roses possessed significance to me, heavier than a cliched kitschy amorous rose, but my weakness, my purpose, my painting. a rose was my inclination, and it was my exclusive and ultimate end.

as i momentarily had the day wholly to myself, i did nothing but watch the roses. the cheerful, enchanting roses.

it was pleasant to imagine that these attractions were the entireties that would smother me lifeless. i would be a lovely rose bush, as pleasing as them. my departure would be artistic; exorbitant roses making me one of their own.

it was a bittersweet melodrama, an expressive doom. mr. rose would be my stunning defeat.


	31. roses. | thirty-one

"your clothes look rather baggy lately. been trying to lose weight?"

i glimpsed downward, shivering at the view, mindful not to insult my ailment in front of him. "i, uh, no, not really. just cut some of the fattening foods out of my diet, yes?" 

"ah, shouldn't we all? thirteen roses, please." 

going back, i gave him his thirteen roses. "your partner, she's incredibly friendly. i wish you two good luck." 

"thank you, lad. she's a very elegant woman, if i may add. have a nice day!" 

"yes, you too, mr. rose," i replied, waving at him before he gave me the twenty and went.


	32. roses. | thirty-two

the block in my esophagus used to be a concern at the end of my head, something that i understood would grow back to torment me. 

now it was the totality swelling in between my consciousness and my sleep, the entirety that will either decay and die or suffocate me, stealing my oxygen for total perpetuity. 

if only mr. rose had simply adored me too. 

"thirteen roses, please." 

clutching the roses and cruising back to him, i gave him the roses."here you go, mr. rose."

"thank you," he said, giving me the money and departing.


	33. roses. | thirty-three

i admired mr. rose. i cherished him higher than everything. but he isn't deserving a lifetime, or loss, even if it is mine. 

why did i spring to start assuming that? i prized blossoms. there aren't annuals in halifax. 

mr. rose is not deserving it, he is not worthy indeed of an ineffective life of mine. i shouldn't gamble my complete livelihood for this fellow that doesn't even consider me. 

is it valued if i'm simply working to be a florist? i would be a breathing florist, that is. i would preferably be an existing florist with no possibility at passion than a stagnant florist who has nothing more to reminisce around besides their admiration on the earth.

i wish to get the operation. i necessitate to. that is my single opening for continuance; not mr. rose.


	34. roses. | thirty-four

"hey, mr. rose." 

"hey. you're looking thinner than yesterday. you must be doing more than just being healthy, i'm sure of that." 

i grasped his roses and came back. "no, that's about it, mr. rose," i replied, chuckling. 

"well, remember not to get too thin. we all need a little meat on our bones." 

i gave him the roses. "sure, mr. rose." 

"have a good day," he said, a twenty drifting behind me.


	35. roses. | thirty-five

i was finished with mr. rose. i don't fancy him. i'm certain of this. 

i prize roses. roses are artistic and sophisticated. but mr. rose wasn't. 

he sauntered in, bearing that light simper he continuously did. did he understand that i was aching because of him? because he didn't even bother to request my title? 

"hi, welcome to eren's flowers. how may i help you today?"

i rubbed my fists on the counter. why was i crumbling for him? he is callous and shallow. he is not deserving of my admiration. 

"one dozen and one roses, please," he said promptly, not even noticing my change in attitude. why didn't i see this sooner? why was i only a florist to him? 

seizing the roses and nearly piercing him in his face, i grinned. "do you want a filler and box with that?" 

"no... no thank you." 

"okay, sir. that'll be twenty-four dollars." 

his eyes enlarged. "uh, okay..." 

he angled in his billfold, just to expose he had nothing but a twenty. 

"i'm running short today. can you cut me some slack?" 

i refused. "no can do, sir. if you take off the extra rose, you would only be at twenty dollars." 

he agreed and gave me the twenty. "well, only twelve roses, then." 

i dumped the fresh rose to the ground and crumpled it beneath my feet. "thank you for buying, sir. enjoy your roses and have a nice day."


	36. roses. | thirty-six

"mr. jaeger, it seems like you are back. i've looked into your surgery, and i have good and bad news."

what could the unfortunate message be? it's just an operation.

"the good news is that we can do your surgery whenever you see fit as of right now."

i nearly applauded. "great! where can i sign the papers?"

dr. lambert hailed me down and resumed. "the bad news is, from your x-ray, the vines have advanced and are strangling your lungs. by this, holes have formed in your lungs. the vines have filled those holes."

"this... this is fixable, right? you can surgically remove those."

dr. lambert sat down. 

"there are thorns on the vines. if we remove them, they might leave bigger holes that we do not have the resources to fix. if you get this surgery, there's absolutely no chance for a full recovery. if the surgery is outstanding, then you will be on a breathing machine for the rest of your life. if we mess up even one thing, you will die. i believe it's too late."

"what do you recommend?"

he breathed. "if you want to live as a hopelessly disabled florist for the rest of your life, then go ahead and get the surgery. i, however, would want to live my life to the fullest, even if it's shortened."

i shut my eyes, sensing a distinct lump in my throat. mr. rose was my grave.

i've forever desired to view the seaside. would i ever see the sea now? could i ever observe the shores? or would the daylilies growing harmoniously asphyxiate me as well?

"how long do i have?"

"a few months, at most."

i felt a senseless tear flow down my cheek. "i just, i don't know what to say? i can't believe... this is my end. i thought i was to die in my slumber composedly. i wanted a, i wanted a painless separation. i wanted to feel delicate and willing before i died. is, is this serene? will this be my sympathetic release?"


	37. roses. | thirty-seven

it wasn't true. it couldn't be true.

my lungs were ailing, that much is authentic, but all is fixable with surgery! all i acquire is merely the operation, and everything would be back to natural. 

the doctor is deceiving me! speaking falsities, he was. or, maybe my intellect just wants everything to go bad.

"hey, hey sir! thirteen roses, please." 

this isn't happening. 

mr. rose will not be my demise. mr. rose will not be anything to me. he is a client who asks for roses.

"here you go." 

he grinned. "you seem a little distraught today. everything alright?" 

"ah, yes. just another disappointing doctor visit."

"well, i hope it gets better. sometimes, the doctors are wrong too, yeah?" 

he pushed the twenty to me before departing. "have a nice day."


	38. roses. | thirty-eight

"hey, mr. ro-"

i started hacking, choking, and my body shuddered frantically.

i felt like i was falling downwards. like i was on a roller coaster, and i was speeding up...

a hardened pain from my forehead pressed and punctured as i coughed.

"are you okay? do i need to call someone?" 

i collapsed to the ground. i appeared like i was deadened. all i could do was sprawl on the carpet and cough. 

"i need you to take deep breaths, okay?" mr. rose said, hastening behind the counter and stroked my spine. i needed him to quit. i ached to scream at him to stop.

the pain growing in my esophagus and chest ceased its swelling, and a rose thorn caught itself on my lip as it launched itself out of my throat.

mr. rose stared at it, touching one of it's petals.

what a lovely rose.

"i, uh, fuck."


	39. roses. | thirty-nine

this wasn't happening this completely was a fantasy. 

mr. rose did not see me in my worst stage. it was merely a fabrication of my imagination, one of my deepest fears out to haunt me. my brain loves to play tricks on me, just to assure myself to get the operation even further.

the doctor was mistaken. i can still receive the surgery. there's no way there are gaps in my lungs. it can't be that the vines are inside of my lungs. it's not even naturally plausible!

the doctor loved to fool. he called me a lovely rose bush, for my sake. i wouldn't be crazy to think he was quipping about the spaces in my lungs as well. 

i need to wake up. i need to get out of this illusion immediately, or maybe, just possibly, it will become my actuality.


	40. roses. | forty

"is that why you were losing weight? and why you always looked like you were being slowly choked?"

i was so... perplexed. this wasn't happening. this couldn't be happening.

why was this happening?

"i promise i don't have an eating disorder, mr. rose. i have a rare disease, and the things inside me take the food for nutrients." 

mr. rose tipped over the table. "i've never heard of a disease where you puke up roses. the sight of you on the ground and then a bloody rose comes out of your mouth was very, uh, terrifying."

"can we please stop talking about this? here are your thirteen roses," i replied, already holding them at the counter. 

"it makes me scared knowing that my florist pukes up the roses. there's no guarantee that these roses haven't come out your mouth." 

he fired the twenty at me, leaving the shop. 

why do i love mr. rose so much?


	41. roses. | forty-one

mr. rose did not appear today. 

it was most pleasantest. i kept thirteen extra roses. was he even worthy of those roses?

granted, those roses would be filthy the minute it touches his clean hands.

they would be as contaminated as the roses sprouting in my own esophagus. as defiled as the rose that grows amazingly amidst weeds, though it will not outlast for long. 

perhaps, mr. rose shouldn't grow.


	42. roses. | forty-two

why was i so senseless? 

so strong to conclude that mr. rose was irreproachable, trusting, even. this was my mistake. i should've never placed such support into someone i barely associated with. 

the roses were wise! 

they were wise for coiling inside my lungs too. it stirred me awake from the delusion that mr. rose was enough for my resolute, unrecompensed passion. 

mr. rose wasn't meritorious of anything of mine! my heart, my desire, not even my roses. he didn't _earn_ to wander in my shop each day displaying that dull simper of his. he didn't earn the right to be the brightest thing in my life, brighter than the sun that feeds his roses.

was he pleased that he was preparing to split me down upon the cracked foundation i balance myself on now? is he satisfied that he precisely demolished my soul?

the roses recognized this was to pass. that's why they dressed my deathbed before i was to know. i would drop for mr. rose so exceedingly strong, and though i was awakened from my fantasy, it was apparent that mr. rose despised me. 

mr. rose is a _corrupted_ , _egotistic_ , devil from inferno itself. his sole objective was to raise you up and then thrust you downward!

he didn't deserve her devotion. he didn't deserve my admiration. he didn't deserve anyone's trust. if anything went awry, mr. rose would be faster to replace his opinion of you than a sunflower to grow.

and yet, the most heartbreaking part of it all was when he unveiled his opinion of me.


	43. roses. | forty-three

mr. rose had disappeared for two weeks. it was best.

looking into the mirror was a dreadful chore now. something i'd put off for hours.

my clothes dangled off of me like ballast. my skin felt rough and patchy, and it seemed to break no matter what i had applied to it.

i was watering a plant when mr. rose bustled in, blabbering that horrible mouth of his.

"you're banned, you know that, right? do i have to call the police?"

he sighed, pushing his hands on the table.

"i'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry for the disrespect towards your illness. i hadn't realized how insensitive, and uncaring, and utterly disgusting i was being about the entire situation. i love your roses! i've seen no other flower being cared for so thoughtfully by any other florist. please, just let me have thirteen roses? i'll pay twenty-four dollars."

i ground my feet unto the ground, staring at him for a solid five seconds, cursing him to eternal condemnation once more.

"you never realized from the start, you foolish parvenu."

"huh?" 

"you're stupid! impulsive, inconsiderate. do you realize how much i've been going through? do you realize how much i struggle to wake up? you will never feel my pain, so you have no right whatsoever to show up in my shop and criticize me. and, even so, if you were so disgusted by the way i raised my roses, and if you were so bothered by my illness, maybe _you_ shouldn't come to _my_ shop, mr. rose."

i snatched his roses and handed them to him. "twenty-four dollars." 

he drew out a twenty and four ones. "ah, here you go." 

he fled from the store as speedily as he came in. 

i shouldn't have accepted this apology this early. this was all his fault, after all.

he loved to offend me! this is something he formulated, after all.

he invented this monstrosity surviving in my lungs, and no other deserved to be disturbed what it became of itself besides him.


	44. roses. | forty-four

mr. rose arrived in, as vivacious as always. as if that day was never true.

"thirteen roses, please!" 

what was once just a suspicious feeling in the back of my throat sprang to give a squeamish emotion spread across my upper body. 

i hurried to the back, where the roses lived, and rapidly attempted to collect his roses before i regurgitated extra. i was at eleven, now twelve...

i was too slow.

flinging over, corrosives coerced their way out my lips. 

one healthy rose rested there, where the thirteenth rose would be. 

i grinned and fastened them together, believing that this thirteenth rose would be my liberation. these silly predilections of resentment would no longer be a part of me, because this rose has taken it all away.

"here you go, mr. rose. twenty dollars." 

gazing up in astonishment, he transferred the twenty over and motioned me goodbye, sniffing the roses. 

"enjoy the roses!" 

i felt felicitous! i felt more peaceful than i was for a prolonged time.

i laughed, imagining mr. rose recognizing that one flower was more pristine, more exotic, and held more of a cherry red than the rest.

i hope he gives that rose to his precious sweetheart.


	45. roses. | forty-five

"well, we don't have many answers. i can confirm, however, that your paleness and you losing weight rapidly is because of the roses. they are feeding off of you, and i expect by your death, you will have multiple other reasons you could've died. dehydration, blood loss, starvation, to name a few. other than that? there's nothing much we can do. you have a poetic disease, rare, too, and all we can do is hope for more funding."

i dug my fists into my femora, despairingly begging with dr. lambert for a separate reply.

"there is something you can do, dr. lambert! surely there is! if i had a stomach virus, you wouldn't tell me i had to hope for more funding? tell me this is fixable."

dr. lambert hunkered down in his chair, sighing.

"i don't know _what_ to tell you, mr. jaeger. there is nothing i can do, and we're utterly hopeless in this subject. donors come in daily, i can put in a request of money for your cause-"

"i don't want to fund! i want my lungs to be okay. they are okay, right? they must be okay. there is some way you can make them be okay, right?"

"mr. jaeger," dr. lambert said, his tone excessively tranquilizing. "have you been seeing your therapist lately?"

"what is that supposed to mean? do you think i'm going crazy? i'm not going crazy, how rude of you to imply that! am i crazy? you're a doctor, do you think i am crazy?"

he soothed my chattering, though my thoughts were rippling throughout, one more despondent than the following.

"you are not crazy, i can assure you. you are simply going through denial, and it's normal. it happens to all of us. though, i do think you should see your therapist."

"please, dr. lambert. i will never do anything to harm my lungs ever again, if you please, just slightly, fix me. i'm desperate, dr. lambert. i know you have the power. just... fix me."

"i cannot. doctors are not higher powers. we are human, and we need research to help people. unfortunately, we don't, so i have nothing that can help you in the position that you're in."

why was it me? why was it not mr. rose, or his beloved, or my latest client recently, or anyone besides me! i am a florist, living nothing short of a healthy lifestyle!

i am fatigued and isolated, and i most certainly have _no_ interest in a life-threatening cord connected to me.

if i was going to die a freak, i would've chosen a different option.


	46. roses. | forty-six

there was a paleness about me i simply could not shake, like i was becoming a white lily. i pulled up my shirt to my neck, trying to hide the blatant fact that it looked like it would fit a sumo wrestler, compared to myself.

if only it weren't me! then i could wear my clothes correctly.

"thirteen roses, please." 

scampering to the back, i stared at the roses.

these roses wouldn't imply anything to me if i hadn't acquainted with mr. rose. they would be common, amorous, roses. expensive, though everyone loved them. 

grasping them, i walked back to mr. rose. 

"here you go. twenty dollars, mr. rose." 

the twenty drifted into my palm and mr. rose disappeared, dropping a corolla behind. or possibly it was from my lips.

there would be no perianths in my mouth if i hadn't relished mr. rose so greatly.


	47. roses. | forty-seven

how do you cut your love for someone in half?

or even better, how do you cut the thread of love?

"hi, welcome to eren's flowers. how may i help you today?" 

splendid, eren! he is a client, treat him as such.

"thirteen roses, please."

i shuffled to the back, exhaling. he is a client, eren! a client.

a client with a sweetheart. an incredible lover.

take the roses. 

take the roses, eren. 

i clutched thirteen roses and tied them together, imagining them as the items gone out of my own body. 

do not do that, eren. you do not admire him, so, therefore, there are no more roses in your body. now give the roses to mr. rose. give the roses to the client. 

"thank you, sir. do you want a filler and box with it?" 

"no, thank you." 

"okay, sir. that'll be..."the twenty rushed above, and i took a deep breath, preparing for the next customer.

"here, this is for your troubles." 

a rose of my own was extended towards me. my eyes broadened. 

"huh?" 

"this is for all the things you must be going through. you deserve a time to relax."

i received the roses, beaming more now than ever. i could not help but accept it. 

i admired mr. rose more than i admired myself.


	48. roses. | forty-eight

i could not dismiss it anymore. mr. rose was my conclusion, my finish, and i would succumb to the hands of a gentleman. 

would i be needed? would someone want me? 

would he need me?

i gripped his rose to my heart. it was one of my stray roses, one of the many that i had fed and watered. it was my rose.

but he promised it to me.

i am nothingness. i am nobody but the defenseless and incompetent that he encounters on the street. that is why he returned a rose to me! i show nothing to him, but i look unpleasant, like the people he sees. he pitied me!

i am nothing extra of a dependent, desperate, florist. a florist with a deathless want to be with someone that does not even see me.


	49. roses. | forty-nine

there was truly no way out of this. i had fallen in love with mr. rose, and now i was stuck, unable to get up. 

"thirteen roses, please." 

"ah, mr. rose..." 

my wintertime jacket created a squeaking noise while i strolled to prepare his roses. 

"here you go, mr. rose–" 

he gleamed at me, certainly delighted. 

"i'm going to propose to her." 

as if my fortitude had not already fragmented, it comminuted my heart exceeding repair. i extricated my clutch on the roses and they dropped to the ground. 

"mr. rose, don't you think it's... that it's too early?" 

"ah, yes, i have been contemplating whether i should wait, but... it feels like we're soulmates. i never believed in soulmates, i'm still wary of it now, but it feels like if i don't secure her now, i'll never find one like her again." 

the roses were surmounting, enthusiastic to burst out of my bare, throbbing, bleeding throat, and if he did not rush, i was apprehensive he would notice me in my most defenseless predicament once more. 

"of course you could, mr. rose. maybe you haven't been looking in the right places."

mr. rose peered at me. "what could that mean?" 

deliberately, delicate strings of blood rolled down my lower lip and upon my coat, painting it. a forest-green petal slipped out of my mouth and fluttered in the air, gliding above a strand of his hair. dashes of lethargy and dizziness ran into my head and vision, and i caught myself on the counter before i fell.

with a stifled sound and two fingers pressed tightly to my lips, desirous to retain those flowers and restrain them from dropping the obscurity of my mouth, i answered mr. rose.

"ah, never mind. if you want to propose, you have my full support, if that means anything." 

"thank you."


	50. roses. | fifty

i had fastened myself to this outcome. there was no additional decision.

how could i grow so feeble-minded? so droll and convinced of myself.

i have barely a few moons until my destruction. this was solely my responsibility. if i had accepted the operation when dr. lambert had first proposed it...

feasibly, i would survive. i would live my life as a boring florist, who only dreamed of the sunflowers and lilies, and would never love a rose more than i loved a lily.

now it is too overdue for me. 

mr. rose will wed his empyreal darling, and i will disintegrate and decompose. 

that is what i earn. for my asinine performances, i should mold and spoil, and mr. rose should experience his living joyfully, unconditionally oblivious to the passing of a florist.


	51. roses. | fifty-one

i had understood the inevitable. it was because of the shallow imprudence i wished to disbelieve that i am in this circumstance. 

"thirteen roses, please." 

if i had not fallen for him–

no, if i had entrusted my subconsciousness and arranged the surgery when i was authorized to, i would be flawlessly radiant and salubrious. presently, due to my declarations, i am on the terminus of departure. 

if i do not expire because of asphyxiation, i will decline because of blood divestment. the roses have absorbed each fluid within me, and every day it is as if it will be the ultimate day i examine the dandelions glittering so brightly toward my lattice. 

"here you go, mr. rose."

he gave the bill to me nonchalantly and departed the shop as speedily as he came. 

he was lighthearted. he did not tumble into a passion with a man who could never stay with him. 

i wish i was similar to mr. rose.


	52. roses. | fifty-two

the blossoms are blooming today.

i had remained so preoccupied with the roses, that i had not even sought to acknowledge the numerous delicacies that packed my performance area. 

they stayed so elegant. more appealing than anything i had ever observed in this life. 

perhaps it is my opportunity to accept it. trust my destiny following the efflorescence of a flower. 

we all will perish. i was punished with the expense of recognizing my death, but, at the minimum, i will be a captivating rose hedge.


	53. roses. | fifty-three

i smelled the palatable fragrance in the atmosphere and attempted to soothe my anxieties as mr. rose walked in. 

"hey, mr. rose," i greeted him with a smile. "thirteen roses?" 

"yes. and, uh, she said yes." 

clutching his roses, i ran to present them to him. "oh, did she?" 

"yeah! we're gonna get married this year. it's very quick, but i'm fine with it. i love her, very much, actually." 

he planted the twenty in my hand. 

"your passion for her is quite endearing. i am rather inspired." 

"well, it wouldn't be right to lie, would it?"


	54. roses. | fifty-four

"oh, mr. jaeger. i see you've come back?"

i sat down on the furniture that i had previously sat in and smiled at her.

"hello, miss torres."

she planted her palms on the table and scooted her rolling chair closer. "welcome back, mr. jaeger. you have had a change of heart?"

"it was a frightful time for me, you do understand. i had just realized my death sentence, for everyone's sake! life looked devastating and filled with death flowers. i had never even _begun_ to realize there was a white gerbera daisy right in front of me."

"i'm not understanding your metaphors, mr. jaeger-"

"i have found myself, miss torres. and i love myself. i may have learned the skill a little late, but the task is needed in life. in death, as well."

"oh?" she replied with heightened eyebrows. "how has your last update to your condition made you feel, in specifics?"

"well, it was a blur. i was shocked, then i kept trying to tell myself that it wasn't real, that none of it was real. when i did finally register the fact that it was, i got angry and so pent-up at everything. at myself."

"the first step to recovery is acknowledgment," she said, smiling. "how long has it been since you've surrendered those feelings?"

"not long," i admitted. i fidgeted with my fingers under the table, my legs crisscrossing themselves.

"well, it is only expected that those feelings are just bottled right now. it will come a time that those feelings will come back to haunt you, but 'tis all a part of recovery. now, do tell me, leading up to today, what have you recently learned about your love interest?"

"i, uh," i rubbed my eye of the moisture that was contemplating its descent. my hands clammed and concealed themselves beneath my femora, and i felt something indigestible pressing on the interiors of my throat. "he got engag-"

i abruptly inclined my head on her desk. she gasped.

my insides felt squishy, and my mouth gaped open.

thirteen roses, with the appropriate quantity of peduncles and petals, detaching themselves from a stem and fell out, one by one. my throat felt parched, void moisture of any variety. the thorns of the roses carved into my mouth and left me gushing out the miniature relics of blood i did possess.

"oh dear," miss torres spoke overhead. "do you want me to call the hospital?"

i was not anxious concerning the experience in general. i was bothered regarding the number of roses that had befallen.

the roses had a subconscious, and it was tormenting me.


	55. roses. | fifty-five

"what's the meaning of a red rose?"

the question had walked out of mr. rose's lips as he waited by the counter. there were a million thoughts i could've responded with, and yet, not one made its passage out.

of course, there was an apparent meaning to a red rose. a definition that proclaimed so outrageously that each teen romance appeared to include the flower. assuredly, i knew the symbolization of a red rose.

and yet, i could not divide the symbolization of a red rose and the symbolization of mr. rose.

was a red rose a delicate, cheery flower? or was it sentimental, intimate, even? was a red rose spirited, or was it intended for a spouse?

"did i surprise you?" he asked. i shook my head and chuckled, coughing after a few seconds.

"no, it's fine. it just seems like i have forgotten the language of flowers."


	56. roses. | fifty-six

what was formerly my enthusiasm, my future, now steered away from me. 

mr. rose had evaded my philosophies, adjusting everything to translate or equate to him.

it was like the beauty of a lily had been replaced to him, like the rarity of an orchid did not parallel to him.

there were hand-written scholarly expositions in my mind saturated with the preponderance of mr. rose, and the peculiarity of him, analyzed so closely that i remember the distinct time and display that he bumped his nose or yawned, and even the instant he strolled into the shop.

"hello!" he chimed.

"hey, mr. rose."

i had already prepared the bouquet to give to him.

"do you think i should get her a fresh flower? wouldn't she feel some way if i treated her like i treated someone on the sidewalk?"

i coughed, a faint zephyr making my bones shiver. 

"well, i wouldn't know. from a florist's perspective, however, i'd like you to keep buying roses. they sell for quite a fortune!"

"do you have any other romantic flowers?" he asked.

"romantic flowers?"

i peered about, but nothing to me. they were all a blur of distinguishing colors, one as common as the other. 

none of them were as impressive as a red rose. 

my mind had forgotten of any other flower except the rose. it was like the roses had made themselves important.

"i only have the red rose."


	57. roses. | fifty-seven

_"quit?"_

alena's spinning chair creaked as she drifted further in her seat, her elbows on the desk.

"how could you possibly want to quit?"

"i don't want to be a clueless florist. it's simply not right," i replied, shaking my head. she still stared incredulously at me, as if i was not communicating her language.

"it's always possible to relearn floriography," she suggested. "after all these years, you need a refresher anyhow."

"i want to answer mr. rose's questions," i pushed. 

"i want to tell him what a romantic flower is, and what the meaning of a red rose is, and, well, i can't."

"do you truly want to tell him what a romantic flower is?"

i gulped, hacking a few seconds later. she recorded more things in her notepad and then looked at me, her precise cognac eyes flashing facing the light.

"you do understand, eren, if you do sell that shop of yours, you also sell any future possibilities with mr. rose."

"ah, well, what chance did i have anyway?"


	58. roses. | fifty-eight

mr. rose grimaced as he glanced at me.

"you look more sickly than the last time i've seen you. it's very concerning," he said.

"you shouldn't be. been missing sleep, that's all," i said, sliding the roses in his hand, a grin on my face.

he looked down at them. i fiddled with my frail hands, remembering that i would someday have to justify the flowers vanishing, the cardboard boxes substituting the furniture.

and yet, he mesmerized me with his blind attention. i craved more of it, of his time, of his mind. i tipped over the counter, grabbed the money from his grasp, and laughed.

"thanks, mr. rose."

we were so close to meeting hands. reaching fingers, even. it stung horribly, and my throat felt sore thinking about the theoretical chances, but i couldn't help but feel optimistic.

maybe one day i will link my hand with mr. rose.


	59. roses. | fifty-nine

mr. rose arrived in with his beloved, pointing out wildflowers and susurrating words to her.

"what's your favorite flower?" he asked, making her giggle.

"oh, haven't i told you already? i _adore_ tulips, they're gorgeous!" she replied, extending her gloved hand as she spoke.

gloves? it _is_ summer, a clearly eccentric chance to use gloves. perhaps she is a germaphobe? she could possess some trauma or disorder that causes her to conceal her hands, or want to cover them. it could be a modest fashion statement for her.

she wasn't wearing them when i initially met her, i would've surely discerned it. what has befallen since then between the two? is it because of the betrothal she is wearing those? is there something amiss with her palms? is it a component of her culture?

mr. rose appears to admire her gloves, noticing how he's rubbing her hands a lot. or is that just because they are engaged? would he massage my knuckles like that?

maybe it is standard for a nearly espoused couple to touch hands. does mr. rose only marry those who wear gloves? does he prefer clean freaks?

maybe i should begin cleaning more. gloves are popular.

i realized that they both were staring at me, waiting for me to say something. i cleared my throat and nodded my head pleasantly at her.

"tulips? what a wonderful choice. i especially love a parrot tulip."

"oh, is that a tulip? i don't know my flowers well, i must assure you. it's a relief that my fiance has engaged in such a knowledgeable fellow."

"it's all in the work of a florist!"

i nonchalantly grinned and walked to the back, pretending to look for tulips.

she hummed, interlocking her arm with mr. rose and drumming her fingers on the table. i sighed and shut my eyes.

i would not provide her tulips. 

she would not touch, smell, or even glimpse at a petal that descended from a tulip of mine. it was not within her many privileges. 

how could i ever give mrs. rose anything of mine ever again? how could i ever smile at mrs. rose, understanding that i am so skillfully deteriorating for her fiance?

so i performed a role. i acted as if i was rummaging for tulips, and exited the back, looking morosely sympathetic.

"sorry, mrs. rose. i must've sold my last one to the customer before you!"

"well, they are so beautiful. i couldn't judge them for having such a great taste," she said with a smile.

"i couldn't either."


	60. roses. | sixty

it was a cheery time, the beams of daylight succeeding its way into my shop and stinging at me. not at all like the bitter days that led up to today.

there was no need for parkas, no need for extensive breaths, no consistent rumbling that prompted me to eat. 

it was merely me, who held the essence of a flower inscribed beneath my skin, giving an assemblage of boutonnieres to a pleasant couple.

then mr. rose walked in.

if the summer wasn't previously getting to me, it was like i plunged into a piping jacuzzi. tingly sensations ran about me, and i craved to do nothing but stretch out and grasp his hand.

he was not wearing his engagement ring today.

"hello, eren."

i halted. though my thoughts were traveling with the confusion of how he realized that eren was _my_ name, i was capture by ecstasy. the utter certainty that he acknowledged my name was adequate for me.

"mr. rose..?"

he grinned. 

oh, what i would sell to poke his nose, or to even brush against his face! i wished to be near him, to be closer to him. the counter that divided us was a barrier, and in this precious second, i desired nothing other except to discard the barrier.

he hadn't ordered thirteen roses. there was not a concept that began out of his open mouth, and i looked him in the eyes. 

i wanted to scrutinize everything about him for simply this moment. why had he come without a betrothal ring today? the date must be growing closer, it is fundamental for him to wear it.

how had he known my title? why did he speak it with such subtle affirmation? why was he making me behave like this, in such an intimate minute?

he tipped his head up and shoved his fingers into his pockets, strumming the strings of my heart with lymphatic flow and with deeper passion than he had ever done before. i breathed faster as he leaned closer, not being capable to constrain my vibrating heart and the whispered requests for him to _do_ something, anything to make this stop.

the waves were crashing against the shore, the sun had ruptured and melted me away, i could hear nothing but shrieking voices protruding–

the lily had encountered the dandelion. the sunshine had faced the rainbow. what was formerly one, had discovered its counterpart.

but, most importantly, i was bending over the counter, caressing a promised man, kissing mr. rose.


	61. roses. | sixty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for this late update-- i forgot to crosspost last week. anyway, enjoy!

i was gazing at a ceiling with square tiles that shined. i wonder if mr. rose would approve of the ceiling.

someone peered over me, their lips tight as they carried a clipboard close to themselves. when they refocused on my eyes, they backed up.

"hello, mr. jaeger. i am dr. zoë, and we transferred you after fainting in your shop."

fainted? i was asleep?

oh, how clueless am i? i should've known. it was, as bold as a zinnia flower, fake. too perfect to be true.

now that they have bestowed the truth upon me, it all makes sense. not wearing his engagement ring, sun shining a bit too brightly, giving flowers on friday? for everyone's sake, he even knew my name. it was a dream. it was a blatant fantasy! it was simply my foolish nature that kept me believing it.

"okay," i attempted to say, but something muted my words.

"mr. jaeger, you understand your condition, yes?" they said, overlooking me as i struggled to develop audible sentences.

i nodded, lifting my hand and placing it to my lips, grazing around the area to see what was producing my stifled speech.

"it seems like you're reaching a conclusion to life, mr. jaeger," they whispered, though we were isolated in the room. 

"your body is weakening with every move. the hanahaki, classified as a floral infection, has been sticking to your skin tissue and is bound to break it at any moment. if you could just touch your arm for me, please."

with one jab, i yelped. the hairs had become spiky, forming a cut spontaneously. the blood from my index finger coasted down to the center of my palm. dr. zoë had promptly wiped it clean and turned to me with a steadfast grimace.

"what we've also discovered is the development of vines in your frenulum, stretching upward both inside your mouth and stretching outward. we believe that it won't be long until they break through your skin and trap your voice for good, that is, if it does not cover your larynx first. in any case, you'll need a feeding tube."

when there was reticence after their sentence, a tear flowed down their skin, and their lips trembled. they wiped their eyes quickly and shuddered.

"i'm sorry, i just– i get really emotional when i see patients that we can't help. it's so sad, seeing a life that has not yet reached the stair of death, but they're only a few steps away."

they cleared their throat and looked strictly at their clipboard, pushing up their glasses with utmost importance. "anyhow, please refrain from talking to slow their development. whenever you open your mouth, nutrients from the sun feed the flowers. i bid you good day, mr. jaeger."

dr. zoë gave me a paper, a pen, and hurried out, their tears tainting the waxed ground.


	62. roses. | sixty-two

i mindlessly flipped the pages of my notepad, waiting for the second mr. rose would step in. he normally appeared around this time, only a few minutes left to pass–

"hello there, good morning!"

the man was modeling a large, off-white trench coat that draped down to his knees. it seemed much too heavy for him, much too formal to wear just anywhere. he brought his hands from his pockets and swayed them forward and backward, effectively showcasing the black sweater he wore underneath.

i have never seen him so professional. perhaps he did something meaningful today? i opened my mouth to speak to him but promptly warned myself of what the doctor recommended me to do.

zipping up my puffy coat over my mouth, i hastily scrawled down a letter to him and pushed the notepad his way.

_hey, mr. rose._

he incredulously glanced down at the message and back at me, then chortled.

"what's up with you? cat's got your tongue?"


	63. roses. | sixty-three

when i marched into ms. alena's office today, she was exceeding surprise. reassured, even.

"oh, eren! i didn't think i'd see you again. after you ditched me last week... well, my imagination doesn't have a limit," she exclaimed with a giggle. 

"i'm glad to see you in my office today. how have you been feeling?"

she tucked a coil of sable brown hair behind her ear, and her enormous smile was now obvious. the moment i placed my eyes upon it, i could solely think of mr. rose's lips. they were too familiar! i have never seen a person be so thoughtlessly felicitous, to disseminate such delight and joviality with one smooth moment.

but as she stared at me, i understood one thing: she said i didn't come last week.

guaranteed, i couldn't remember last friday at all. it was a black abyss i had not attempted to conceal; the single thing that appeared to correlate with the obscurity of friday was the dream of mr. rose, and it was a thing that brought bittersweet merriment to myself each time i reminisced about it.

"mr. jaeger? you there?"

i jumped in my seat, then refocused on her.

"are you still thinking about selling the shop? have you reconsidered?"

i sighed, pulling out my notepad.

_i can't talk, alena. doctor's orders._

"oh? well then, is there anything that happened recently that you want to tell me about?"

well, certainly, there was plenty to divulge about, but i wasn't sure if i wanted to share yet. i could endlessly rhapsodize about mrs. rose's gloves, or the way she walks, or talks, but i was not particularly sane for thinking so tediously about such diminutive things. i know ms. alena would never inform me of my insanity, yet i believe she already personally thinks i am.

so i shook my head, and although the session went placidly, she peered at me keenly the entire time, like i was hiding something so precious to her under my skin.


	64. roses. | sixty-four

mr. rose marched in, a thin white parchment in his hand. he wore an unfaltering glower and furrowed eyebrows, this character frightening me so intensely i may have stepped back a few paces as he strode closer.

he slammed the paper on the counter face-up, and i gazed down at it. on it was my light writing, curling, and ending at parts. it was a message i had taped to my windowpane, something to notify customers of before they walked in.

"what's this for?" he asked, though they enunciated it as more of a command than a simplistic question. before i identified it, an involuntary tear slid from my eye, making a miniature pool on the back of his hand. he gasped and withdrew it from the table, practically cradling it after.

was i that revolting to him?

i turned the document to the vacant side and scrabbled on it, my splotched and trembling characters nothing like the fancy, cautious ones on the other side.

_i'm sorry._

"there's no need to apologize, i'm not angry at you. i just... why do you feel the need to explain yourself to those people, mr. florist?"

although he was annoyed, i felt, for the first time in reality, the season's breeze against my face. he designed a sobriquet for me. we had _titles_ for one another. it was... reciprocative, was it?

mr. florist?

it is an astonishing name! an illustrious name, admittedly! it is grand enough to be inscribed across my forehead, to be my _new_ name, perhaps.

i will be mr. florist, because mr. rose has called me it.

i smiled and cleared the tears from my eyes. with fluctuating palms, i wrote under the first message;

_they will be angry if i do not talk._

mr. rose didn't appear to approve of this response. he balled his hands into a fist and murmured words i could detect simply because of how close we were.

"then it is their anger they should be aware of, not your disease."

_huh?_

he snorted and put his fingers to his hair, shutting his eyes. when he opened them anew, he sighed with a weary gaze.

"i just don't get it! when i found out and got angry, you banned me from the shop. when i came back, you told me off, and you're within your right to do that! my problem, no, rather my _question_ is, what has changed, mr. florist? why won't you do the same to an ordinary customer as you have done to me?"

i released my pencil, leaving it rolling from the center of the table to the carpet.

i honestly had never contemplated that. sure, i was plenty angry when mr. rose had depreciated me, but when someone other had likewise, i dismissed it swiftly and worked on into the day. 

the answer is more than apparent now.

i plucked up the pencil, and, without sparing one glimpse at them, wrote the message, and promptly shifted away to prepare the roses. i could not endure witnessing their reaction.

_you mean more to me than an ordinary customer._


	65. roses. | sixty-five

i did not put the notice up after that day.

it was out of terror he would recognize what i addressed to him, that he would perhaps consider more of the phrase i had written.

"good morning, mr. florist," he spoke with a joyous temper. "how has your day been?"

_quite nice, if i must say. you?_

he was realistically squealing with delight. my eyes watched him as a grin quirked his perpetually sparkling face, his eyebrows raised and his low-lidded eyes creased.

"splendid! nothing short of splendid!"

_oh? care to tell?_

"well, my fiancee — you've met her before — she's allowed me to bring you to the wedding! i practically begged her to let me invite you, because, well, it was your flower that led me to meet her. it would only be basic decency to show you how much kindness can do."

i stopped breathing.

for that second, the sun didn't glow. the melody of the songbirds that previously passed through the air smoothly had ceased and stared uncannily. my mouth, that had been closed, was forced wide apart for what i hoped would be a screech of panic.

alternatively, it was a breathless silence.

then, i doubled over, hacking and throttling. the discomfort and the energy caused me to crumple over and jitter on the carpet.

i saw mr. rose dash to me once more. this commotion was too familiar. i did not like this one bit.

one by one, thirteen roses, thistles and blooms, cut me until i bled, making their way out of my body.

the platform which i previously mopped feverishly to clean, was painted with red blood again.


	66. roses. | sixty-six

the instant i walked into the fragrant office of alena torres, her eyes scrutinized my face, her lips adapting themselves to mimic my expression.

"oh, eren, are you okay? do you want to tell me about it?"

i felt like crushing the notepad in my grasp, cleaving it into portions so diminutive i would render it unusable. i didn't want to communicate these simmering emotions i was feeling. they were better to be suppressed and glossed over, to be driven to the back of my head.

yet, she seemed too welcoming. she looked like she would scoot closer and listen to my dilemmas for hours, negligent to the time my session suspended. she seemed like a mystic quintessence; like she could heal all my predicaments with one flick of her pencil.

i slid my pad onto the table, and slowly wrote;

_mr. rose has invited me to the wedding._

she translated it to verbal speech and halted midway, nearly as dismayed as i was.

"how did this make you feel? how do you feel about mr. rose's fiancee?"

_she's a nice woman, but i hate the idea._

"why exactly do you hate it, eren?"

she peered at me with a simper, her elbows on the table, and her head reclining on her palms. i pondered for a few moments then wrote on the sheet once again.

_i've known mr. rose longer than she has._

"and yet, she's the one who gets to marry him? you were the one who spoke to him every day, who gave him the flower that allowed them to meet? do you feel as if mrs. rose is indebted to you somehow for the roses, and her payment for your deeds should be her engagement ring?"

ms. torres did not seem, for one trice, like she was sentencing me, yet i felt so offended by her analogies. they were exact! she conquered all my private principles in one insignificant speculation, and i resented it.

when she ultimately recognized my reserve, she uncapped her pen and commenced her writing.

"eren, i think what you should start doing is painting your roses in a more positive light. instead of seeing them as the reason you will die, start seeing them as your call to adventure. instead of seeing them as the one thing that will prevent you from ever returning to normal, start seeing it as your happiness. your overwhelming happiness and love that built up inside you, because you, eren, have a big heart."


	67. roses. | sixty-seven

"wow, um... i'm just..."

_you're what?_

"i'm _sorry_ , mr. florist! i'm so damn sorry for, um, _everything_. i'm so sorry."

mr. rose floundered into the shop looking nothing short of disorderly. his hair, habitually arranged in opposing directions to explain a distinguished part in the center, was disheveled and tangled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it.

he fidgeted with his hands and glanced downward, infrequently sniffing and rubbing his eyes on his sleeve.

i was split between whether to grimace or grin. he practiced that nickname for me again, _mr. florist_. simultaneously, he was weeping over something i did not understand, and it seemingly involved me.

_didn't you tell me recently not to apologize over something that isn't my fault? besides, you haven't done wrong to me. why are you so upset?_

"it's all my f-fault, isn't it? oh, if i had just paid more attention, if i had just listened to you for once... maybe this wouldn't have happened to you... i'm so sorry!"

his tears were gushing from his features like pitiful cascades i had no notion how to settle. in these circumstances, it was wearisome to determine whether to stand gracelessly in their presence alike a fool or to mitigate their feelings, which both could have consequences.

i deliberately picked up my pencil, eyes fixed upon mr. rose, and timidly scrawled on the pad to him.

_you're speaking vaguely, mr. rose. i don't understand._

the sobbing, which had started to quieten, now rose in decibels, as if he was singing a libretto. i stood there stiffly alike a fool, not certain of what i was supposed to do.

"since the beginning," he stammered, his words slurring synchronically so considerably i could scarcely understand. "it has always been my fault, h-huh?"

i pointed back to my former message. he kept reciting 'my fault' in a mutterance, but i didn't comprehend what he intended one iota. did he and his fiancee get into a quarrel?

he attempted to speak, but all he could do was sob. i stretched my tremulous arm to his back whilst staring at the ground. i had no plan of how to sympathize with someone, especially a character with such a susceptible framework as mr. rose. i wasn't sure what switches i should touch and ones i should roam away from, but at least, i did the modest minimum.

he soothed himself to coherent speech, took an abysmal breath, and massaged his eyes with his stained sleeve for the final time before clearing his throat.

"i'm pretty sure," he said, panting, "that i am the reason you're, y'know, _dying_."

i was astonished exceeding belief at the words that scattered so effortlessly out of mr. rose's mouth. how had he known? was this simple speculation? had he pieced such diminutive erudition into a puzzle during the time he did not offer away to gifting roses to arbitrary civilians on the road?

would he neglect me for this? was this rendezvous the last time i would talk to him?

dumbly, i desired that by this, he didn't recognize my predilections. i understood that if he were to discover my secrets, and leave my shop perpetually, it would be my shattering force. i would take my own breath before the roses had an opportunity to.

assuringly enough, i could delineate myself reconvening with my sister for the last time, downing coffee and giggling with her, knowing that i had taken a vial of medicines beforehand.

i could visualize myself stealing away everything plainly for the one person that was my downfall from commonality and my exclusive spring of delight at the same time.

mr. rose peered at me with an exasperated eloquence. was i overthinking again?

"uh, a while ago, i had, um, looked up your disease."

by the expression on my face, his eyes significantly increased and he held his hands up in probity. leisurely setting them down to his side, he articulated tentatively.

"i was curious! who wouldn't be, seeing someone cough up flowers?"

he blathered on, describing something i knew i had, and candidly couldn't get away from. it aggravated me to the last strand on my head. refusing to look at my own partially aggressive writing, i quickly scribbled something down and pushed it to him.

_mr. rose, if i wanted someone to explain it to me, i would've gone to the doctor._

he gasped and put his hands over his mouth, inaudibly squeaking in the act. it was too appealing; i would've laughed if it wasn't an austere order for me to keep my lips sealed.

"hey, uh, mr. florist... do you have feelings for me?"

the continuous inhaling and exhaling i was doing immediately stopped. mr. rose stood there, an expectant yet ubiquitous appearance on his face, his arms folded together.

by the way he shifted his feet, or the way his eyes whirled onto the numerous paintings and wallpaper scratches behind me, i could tell that he knew. he had already formulated an evaluation of me, and finalized it; this portion was merely for attestation.

i felt my eyes beginning to water, but i flickered them away. was there surely anything i could do? he knew so much about me from a simple click, there are only so many facts i can hide from him.

would it be more beneficial to lie to him about my death, or would it be more suitable to be truthful? if i avowed my feelings for him, would he bequeath me in the shop with a twenty-dollar bill?

are my disclosure and my genuine dignity deserving of the risk?

i grasped the bundle of flowers and gave it to him as if it was my last. i smiled, held my head still, and gazed into his eyes, though my own were blurred.

"yes! oh, goodness, yes. i love you so much, mr. rose. it frightens me, my love for you. it hurts me more than your words ever will. and now that you've realized that... i-i don't know what to do."

i began to eccentrically tremble in my spot, audaciously weeping in front of mr. rose. as much as i wanted to run away into oblivion, to escape the bile invariably building up my throat, it was like my heels were attached to the floor. no matter how greatly i willed my body to move, it did not yield.

although mr. rose was the one who shed tears first, it seemed like i was the one who couldn't keep a dry face.

he sighed and began to pat my back.

"you shouldn't give up yet," he said with a grin. "you still need to learn my name, right?"


	68. roses. | sixty-eight

following that day, i knew i had done something wrong.

the roses had advanced and did precisely what the doctor had assumed they would achieve. with one thrust at my own mouth, and gawking at myself in the mirror, i realized that i would never articulate again.

the groove above my upper lip was now stabbed and gushing; it stung worse than anything i felt before. vines extended out of the vast holes created and went downwards, generating a masked impression that trapped my voice no matter how loud i screamed.

i attempted to cover it by the time mr. rose appeared, though many had already questioned and ridiculed me about it already.

this day was very much peculiar. on this day, i didn't sell thirteen roses to mr. rose. he gave them to me.

he showed to always wear professional raiment now. was this what it is like before matrimonies? had he simply done this to satisfy his fiancee? does mrs. rose fancy acknowledgeable men? or is it because of his beauty in a suit?

was his fiancee only courting him for his precipitous and absolute elegance?

i looked up at the ceiling and cleared my mind. i was hypothesizing regarding something i had no business in once more. it was absolutely a shameful weakness of mine, to nitpick all the imperfections and vulnerabilities of mrs. rose, and insisting i would be a much more suitable suitor than her. 

"uh, _here_ , mr. florist."

he thrust the roses at me, essentially shoving them into my chest. they were twinkling in their own remarkable ways, vigorous and red like no other rose i had ever observed before. i permitted myself to simper, and formulate a message to him.

_thank you, mr. rose. where did you get these from?_

"i'm returning them, i guess. i, uh, got them from you. your _body._ "

_what do you mean? are you returning flowers to me?_

"no! i would never — i think your flowers are really pretty — but i felt like it was wrong for me to keep them."

although he was once again conversing in exceptionally enigmatic tones, i examined a flower by its scales and its thistles, then turned to him.

"do... do you remember that time that you... y'know?"

_threw up and passed out on the floor?_

"for lack of a better explanation, yes. so, uh, after i cleaned you up and sat you down in the back and everything, i didn't know what to do with the roses on the ground. so i just, um, took them home, i guess."

my eyebrows raised and i scribbled another instantaneous sentence.

_so you're telling me that you picked up thirteen of my vomit roses, walked them home, put my vomit roses in a vase, and brought them back to me?_

he nodded timidly. "i also watered them, i didn't know if they needed more or less plant nutrients since they're from your body, but, yeah..."

i shook my head and snickered. he was too favorable for his own good, a happy-go-lucky philanthropist. i didn't even understand how to manage a man such as him anymore.

planting one of his hands into mine and using his other to hold the paper still as i wrote, i granted him one conclusive embrace and sent him away.

_you didn't have to do that. you'll probably get sick, with my bacteria being on you for so long._

by this time, he had already motioned me goodbye and proceeded out the door. though he was gone, i resumed writing, determined to push this definitive message out of my head.

_thank you, mr. rose. i will cherish this forever._


	69. roses. | sixty-nine

_he knows._

" _what?_ eren, you told him?"

alena's profession as a therapist had dwindled into nothingness, implementing a more congenial ambiance than licensed. to me, she seemed like a companion who solely desired happiness to spring to my door. it reminded me too greatly of my sister, but nevertheless, i inclined into her touch.

_i would never willingly tell him! he sort of just knew the minute he walked in, and i can't just lie to him._

"why not?"

i shrugged, not even troubling myself to compose an acknowledgment of her catechism. she chuckled and looked to a petite portrait on her desk, grinning with such a dismal luminosity as if she was reminiscing about succumbed passion.

"you're such a polite boy, eren. you remind me of my own son sometimes. lying to the one you love must feel like _treason_ , doesn't it? ah, carefree love. i'm not that old — barely into my thirties, but i do miss being so irresponsibly free like you some days."

_what do you mean, alena?_

"offices are restricting, eren. so blindly restricting, you don't even seem to notice how the days always blur together in one familiar color scheme. though," she added, the last word oblique. 

"don't think for a second i'm complaining about my job. it's my passion to help others with their wounds and it's a blessing to see them get better every day. so now, eren, how have you taken the words i told you at the last appointment? how have you been treating yourself since then?"

i felt my face again, remembering the error i made.

_i can't say i have been treating myself rather nicely. you would understand, right?_

her eyes dashed to the veil that concealed the sprouting leaves, though the sides had a few stray petals sticking out.

"well... as far as you can control. how have you been treating yourself mentally?"

a ridiculous tear trickled down, and i blasphemed myself for it. why was i crying all the time? was i nothing but an inadequate wailing weakling?

_i've tried my best to see it as natural selection. i'm trying not to put the blame on anyone, but, it all seems to be my fault._

i wiped my tears with my gloved hands, but alena had already gotten up. 

"give me a hug, you."

i glanced up at her to observe her long spindly arms towards me, hardly an inch's reach apart. she furrowed her eyebrows when she noticed that i had not moved one bit.

"you deserve it, eren! please, just accept my hug."

although the tears and the roses operated contemporaneously to hinder my throat and make it unable to breathe, i stood at the desk and squeezed her until i was capable to breathe anew and allowed the irregular imperfections of a florist stain her shoulder, though her own subtle shakiness made it troublesome to stop.

at one interval of time, i pictured her arms to be much broader, her whispering voice to be more reverberating, for her stature to be much shorter.

when we diverged from one another's grasp, i did not see the fluctuating, russet hair of alena torres. alternatively, i saw the sharp and sooty black hair of a man i knew all too thoroughly, and yet, worried for the most.


	70. roses. | seventy

the roses plummeted to the floor.

i stood there, gazing at him, my fingers trembling and my legs quivering. he scratched the back of his head and continued speaking, though i believed it was more than evident i desired nothing more than for him to close his mouth.

"wouldn't it be better for you if i said it? wouldn't _you_ like it?"

i stuck a palm to my face and attempted to groan, though nothing but a forced exhale from my nostrils reached out. 

why was he so knowledgeable and thoroughly senseless concurrently? couldn't he simply disregard my passions and gift out those stupid roses of his?

_of course, i would like it if you said those words, mr. rose, but that's not the point! they're supposed to be sincere, not some tossed around phrases to make me feel better!_

he glimpsed down at the print and back at me as if i wrote it in a heterogeneous language he could not understand. 

_you'll never understand me or my disease, mr. rose, so why do you even try? you've been doing nothing but offending me._

"but it's... it's worth a try, right? if it helps you..."

i could not bear to look into his eyes. they were so pleading, so desperate for me to approve something he knows is wrong. it will never work! it will do utterly nothing but eradicate me within, to know that none of the words he says is true. it was visibly cruel, and he knew that, yet refused to back down.

i handed him the roses, to which he reciprocated with money, and anew, he looked at me with those asinine eyes. how could he torment me so? why could he never take me seriously?

i consented but glanced down to the ground. i did not want to view his mouth form in a matter that wordlessly articulated those words, because then i would have to sincerely accept what i had heard.

he veered away, and i could practically sigh. he had not spoken once, and it was as if he was not preparing to announce anything at all.

but then that sensation of terror overwhelmed me once more as i caught his chuckle.

"thank you, mr. florist. i love you."


	71. roses. | seventy-one

"i love you!"

_no, you don't._

"i'm completely serious, mr. florist," he said, batting his eyelashes and flailing his hand over his mouth. "i _love_ you. i want nobody else other than you."

he was unquestionably burlesquing me. it didn't appear affectionate; it didn't even deceive my heart. i rolled my eyes and pushed the mask closer to my mouth.

_can you drop this already? you have a fiancee._

he lamented and sagged downwards as if i had disappointed him. i could scarcely scoff.

"but i want to help! i feel incompetent, knowing that you're standing there and dying, and it's all my fault! can't you just let me do this one thing for you?"

i furiously scratched the pencil's lead against the paper.

_don't you get it, mr. rose? you're not helping me at all. there's nothing that can help me. i'm dead._

he didn't appear to like this.

he stared at me, though it seemed as if i was never there in the first place. his bottom lip shivered, and prominent earthquakes overtook his body. his gradual and poised breathing became frantic, and he lunged out to grab the hems of my jacket.

"you're... you're kidding, right? you'll stay... of course you'll stay... just a joke..."

i quirked my eyebrow and put the hand that was reaching out for my pencil down.

"yes, i'm okay! are you suggesting that i'm _crazy?_ i'm not crazy! i'm just... i would never kill a man... i could never kill a man..."

i pulled out of his despairing grasp and back down to the notepad to compose something else, but with one expeditious and unbalanced action, he pushed his face to mine until there was no space left.

i could feel his damp skin against my cheek. i could feel all the splinterings and blemishes of his lips as they slid into place, intertwining mine.

i could not help frowning at this fact. it was wrong. it was all too harsh to mrs. rose, for her fiance to kiss the florist and then present a rose from the florist. she would shun me forever if she hadn't previously.

i pushed mr. rose away from me, and i could not refrain from glowering at him.

he looked so terrified, so uncomfortably unsure of everything around him. when he met my eyes, he did not pause for me to ask him to leave.

for the first time, mr. rose ran out of the shop without a banquet of roses in his hand.


	72. roses. | seventy-two

alena was quite as disappointed as i was.

when i had told her what he did via remarkably turbulent thrashings in writing, she gasped and glared at some parts.

opening her mouth to speak what i could only assume were very offensive phrases, she closed it again and cleared her throat.

"well, we shouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly," she said with a smile. "maybe there is a certain event in mr. rose's life that reminded him of your situation, which is why he reacted so rashly."

i could suppose so, but it didn't seem like mr. rose was much of a melancholy person. he seemed to consist of solely sunflowers and daisies, so how could it ever be true that there was some section of decaying anemone buried inside him?

i shrugged. alena torres had been correct many times already. who's to say that she will not be accurate on this particular issue?

"anywho, this session is not for mr. rose, eren, it's for you," she said, easing into the subject. "how did you feel about mr. rose doing this to you? violated? overjoyed? do you feel filthy, or maybe even blank?"

_of course! it was offensive to me, it was offensive to mrs. rose. i don't understand how he could do such a thing to her! he's supposed to be engaged to her, but it seems like my feelings always come first._

"oh, but eren, do you know the contents of their engagement? what if it's more of an open one? you shouldn't assume such things so quickly."

_i don't think mr. rose is the type to run after more than one person._

she flapped her hands in her face as a sign of disclosure, saying one terminal statement about the subject before her attempt to move on. with one look at the clock, i knew that we were running out of time. why did it seem to go by so swiftly in the aromatic office of alena torres?

"eren, i think you glorify mr. rose a bit too much. we all do it sometimes when we love a person, but it's essential to distinguish your fantasies of that person and the realities of that person. it's a harsh world, after all. if you feel disgusted about what happened, confront them about it. do not, at all costs, keep silent about it."

the dreadful alarm on her desk rang. she looked up to me with a compassionate smile.

when i got up to leave, she held one finger up for one more word.

"and eren?"

i stared at her.

"when you come back next week, i expect you'll be able to tell me mr. rose's name."


	73. roses. | seventy-three

"uh, you know, we still want you to come to the wedding."

mr. rose had disappeared for several days. now, he appeared in what seemed to be an organized demeanor. i was exceedingly antagonistic, and i sincerely couldn't tolerate listening to his voice.

when i scowled at him at the allusion of his matrimony, he retreated a few paces and put his hands up.

i noticed that his hands were calloused today. they habitually were smooth, spectral to the degree you'd presume he was a vampire. i never understood how he could linger so pale and yet contribute most of his day outdoor. 

initially, i simply accepted the fact that he was a mortal, male lamia, but it still didn't synchronize. he truly was a phenomenon.

why did his hands look so toughened and vermillion? what tedious work had he been doing with his hands?

a glacial shiver from my vertebrae delivered me back to reality. remembering what mr. rose said last, i responded.

_you do understand that i am not an immoral monstrosity like you think i am? do you realize how offensive it would be to your soon-to-be wife if i showed up, coughing flower petals down the aisle?_

"i never said i thought you were an immoral monstrosity! really, i... i think highly of you!"

_then you would also understand, mr. rose, that although i may hold feelings for you, i do not automatically consent to you kissing me._

"mr. florist, i am so sorry for that. i just– you reminded me of a past lover in that instance. well, not _lover_ , but..."

my eyebrows quirked up in astonishment, eventually descending down into their original place. 

like always, alena torres was accurate.

_a past lover? please, do tell, we have all day._

his eyes were cast downwards, and his feet shuffled together.

"can you, um, can you lend me your notepad and pencil for a moment?"

i nodded and pushed them towards him. instantly, he began to write. his handwriting was so slanted and petite i wasn't able to read it upside down like i was capable to examine my own. all i could do was unabatingly anticipate, as he inscribed the story of something i genuinely had no business knowing.

in the meantime, i prepared the thirteen roses for him, overlooking the lightheadedness that got ever more so present as i went throughout the day.

when he gazed up, we exchanged the roses for the money and he wandered out.

i looked down at the note. there were only a few sentences calligraphed on it, but it appeared to take much fervor to write them.

 _erwin smith, a principled man, brought tulips to my apartment every day._  
  
he never gave me a true explanation as to why he always showed up on my front doorstep with his stupid grin and his flowers. he simply knew i loved them so much, it was a thing that went unnoticed.

_i loved erwin smith more than i could ever love tulips, though. no matter how hard i tried to convince myself otherwise, i always craved to see his smile more than i wanted to see the tulips. it became a daily routine, him giving me the tulips before he went off to work. sometimes, i would imagine myself kissing him goodbye as he left, but i never worked up the courage to do so._

_one day, erwin smith was not able to give me those tulips. he had died resting in his sleep, to a disease that was never named. his mother made an effort to try to cheer me up with black chrysanthemums, but it did not shorten my mourning. erwin smith hated chrysanthemums. he thought they looked like helpless little pumpkins, and swore that he would never commit such a crime as giving me a black chrysanthemum._

_he would've been cured if he stayed inside, away from the outside oxygen, but he never did, just so he could give me those stupid red tulips._


	74. roses. | seventy-four

i couldn't help reexamining the letter.

it felt foreign, in some fashion. like a compelling item of testimony to a quandary that i did not conjecture. particular features stuck out to me like never before, and now i could do nothing except search for a clandestine cognizance.

as i handed a venerable woman an arrangement of tulips, in a series of flashes, i ultimately understood what i was missing. the lost portion of the puzzle had conclusively shifted into place, but rather of the triumphant spirit of fulfillment, i felt a burden drop in my abdomen.

tulips were mrs. rose's beloved flower, was it?

i extracted the note from my pocket and brushed over it for the tenth time or so.

_erwin smith... tulips to my apartment... i loved erwin smith more than i could ever love tulips, though..._

"mr. florist?"

i hastily glanced up.

mr. rose was attempting to not blatantly gawk at what i was carrying, but i saw his eyes slide down recurring times in precise glimpses. i rammed it in my pouch and hauled out my journal.

_mr. rose, what was erwin smith's favorite flower?_

nowadays, it seemed like mr. rose continuously acknowledged my interrogatories with reticence and reluctant looks.

"they were... they were tulips."

i nodded.

_that's a real coincidence. tulips are your, mrs. rose, and erwin smith's favorite flower?_

"i just want my tu- _roses_ , please."

_hey, mr. rose, can i ask you an atrocious leading question?_

he scoffed and peered down. "you would ask me even if i said otherwise, but i appreciate the gesture."

_you're using mrs. rose, aren't you?_

mr. rose stammered, his eyes shooting over diverse components of the room. copious syllables came out of his mouth, but none of them made sense.

"wh..? why do you think that? _how_ could you think that?"

he trembled and gaped at me with wide eyes. i knew i was correct. everything should've been apparent since the instant he handed me that note.

he didn't absolutely adore mrs. rose as much as he alleged he did. he was forecasting the affection he felt towards erwin smith on her, as if they were identical.

they might've not shared the same surname, the same philosophies, or even the same sex, but it didn't matter to mr. rose, because they both prized tulips, and he met them both from the substitution of a flower. 

those were the most conspicuous aspects to him, and he would do anything to strengthen erwin smith in his heart, even if that indicated undividedly destroying everyone else in the process. he was too passionately devoted to erwin smith.

i grinned, the thorny vines encasing my mouth unhesitatingly cutting my lips and making them ooze, but at this moment, i did not mind if the patch of blood on my mask was visible.

why did mr. rose actually hand out roses every day?

i've asked before, and he invariably produced that unprejudiced response. _selflessness_. _pleasure_. it was such an uncanny response, i never did accept it.

i knew the genuine purpose now. why was this so laborious for a florist to realize?

mr. rose gave out roses because they were the practical opposition of tulips. 

it was a fruitless struggle to assure himself that he would never see erwin smith on his doorstep anew, a desperate venture to move on.

a tulip was a diffident and unpretentious figure, unwilling to take more reservation than required. they wordlessly appealed for consideration, while a rose screamed for it. a rose is self-centered and sophisticated, with an efflorescence disseminating a rose's wings farther than a tulip ever could.

as i stared at mr. rose, these extemporaneous realizations plunged in like a tsunami, the dams of my brain ultimately breached.

he was weeping.

why was it forever my fault for his tears?

his face was obscured by his hands as he sniffled. it was much unlike the last time he sobbed when his melancholy was considerably noticeable and his cries were public for me to see.

bending over the counter, i extended my fragile arms to his back and stroked it, enabling him to cry on my jacket.

i believe that mr. rose realized, precisely at this moment, that what he was doing to mrs. rose was wrong. it was egotistical and ruthless.

mr. rose asked for twelve roses that day.


	75. roses. | seventy-five

alena cheered when i stepped into her department.

"hello, eren! how has your week been?"

_action-packed, to say the least._

"oh? would you like to talk about it?"

_of course, i would, alena. why else would i be sitting down here if i wasn't ready to spill all my problems?_

she grinned. "it's common courtesy, eren."

picking up my pencil, i informed her of the many things i had discovered. halfway through drafting it, however, she sighed.

"if it's about mr. rose again, i think you should stop worrying about it. mr. rose is mr. rose and eren is eren. they do not intertwine, so please stop taking their problems and hoisting them on your shoulders if they are not doing the same."

_i'm afraid i can't do that, alena. it's all in the curse of unrequited love._

she groaned and shook her head.

"anyway, did you ask the thing i requested for you to do? it's fine if you didn't, but i think it would be great if you could stop calling the man _mr. rose_."

i would open my mouth to gasp, but the vines kept it stringently in place. i exhaled.

_i totally forgot, alena. i'm sorry._

"no, no, of course not! there's no need to apologize, it's your life after all. take your time. it was wrong of me to get so unprofessional and ask you to do something like that."

_isn't it your job to get unprofessional to me? i wouldn't angrily rant to someone who's choked up in their fancy lettering all the time._

"eren, is the only reason you're so hysterically angry about this is the fact that you saw yourself in erwin smith? perhaps, you've been imagining yourself to be erwin smith, in some way?"

alena torres is an intelligent woman, but for the first time, she was incorrect.

how could i ever envision myself to be erwin smith, when the most essential ingredient of him was missing from my individuality? how could i ever even be associated with erwin smith, when i did not cherish tulips?

in some esoteric scheme of probity that i would never admit to alena torres, the feasibility of a connection with mr. rose would never become an actuality. i had experienced all too well the discrepancy linking a tulip and a rose.


	76. roses. | seventy-six

flourishing flowers, like all inmates of the world, will collapse in their own unfortunate means as they grow.

everyone acknowledged this. everyone understood this.

so why was it so repugnant when _i_ was the crumbling flower?

maybe it was because individuals were never anticipated to be composed of flowers. maybe it's because a human is too inadequate to become a perennial. maybe it was because a flower's demise was underwhelming, irrelevant.

humans and flowers were fundamental contradictions, one resembling a rose, another resembling a tulip. 

roses are contemptible, monstrous barbarians who served their own interests, abnormalities who nursed their buds to be exactly like them. roses are obscene, and tulips were not. 

is this what befalls when you marry two discrete entities into one essence? perhaps, if you placed a rose's perianth into the blood of a florist, it would invariably result in death?

at the very least, it was a pleasant death.

"mr. florist, what the hell is wrong with your hand?"

mr. rose grasped my hand, which was previously resting at my side, into his hands, and slid his fingers over the prickly thistles that grew out of my palm.

with my other hand, i began to respond.

_it's nothing, mr. rose. just a blossoming flower._


	77. roses. | seventy-seven

mr. rose always noticed my altering physical modifications. with every time he walked into my shop and rubbed his thumb against the penetrating thorns in my hand, it was nothing besides heartbreaking.

i recognized that no matter the number of occasions he gazed at me with those doubled eyelids, and those compassionate hands, the emotions they intimated never were true. it was a flight of reverie he performed to associate me with the cursed erwin smith, the man who conquered mr. rose's spirit with a bouquet of tulips.

"it's gotten to your arm now!" he cried, stroking his palm up my sleeve, giving me jitters.

"is there something we can do to fix this? if it's gotten to your arm, it's only a matter of time until you..."

i placed the back of my hand to his mouth, cautious not to pierce him. then, i raised it deliberately and picked up my pencil.

_we all have deathly flaws, mr. rose. it is our responsibility as humans to determine if we will carry that blemish or if we will hide it. if we will strangle the precious thing that will be our end, although it costs us our genuine prosperity. if we will surrender our short-lived happiness for eternal hunger._

_as atrocious as it sounds, you would always be considered a fool to die young and happy. but, after all, what is more atrocious than a dying florist, mr. rose?_

he sighed, raising his head up and pulling his hair back.

"please don't call me mr. rose anymore. it... it isn't right."

_how do i refer to you, then?_

"levi. i want you to call me levi."


	78. roses. | seventy-eight

one knock. two.

i had forever perceived her as the nonchalant, lighthearted type, but it's been eternities since i've seen my cherished sister. i would imagine that she would place aside her leisurely strides to greet me.

the mahogany creaky entrance opened to expose a woman of diminutive stature, shorter than mr. rose, even. she tied her long flaxen hair back into a low stringent ponytail, making her look more like a lackey than my sister-in-law, historia reiss.

she gawked at me with wide eyes, so positively blue they were like electricity, driving you into dumbfounded stillness by the utter display of them. the hand that pushed the door open was now quivering on the doorknob as she fought to pronounce the words to speak.

"you're... you're eren, right?"

i nodded.

"come in."

she opened the door wider for my entrance and closed it after me. she glanced behind her at me numerous times as she guided me through the humble home, cluttered with euphuistic porcelain, portraits of a boy with copper-colored hair and a glower sitting in an antique chair, outdated calendars, and family photographs consisting of both historia's family and mine.

"i'm sorry for being so rude. the truth is, well, the last time i saw you, you were waving goodbye to ymir and packing up the van."

i didn't answer. the strength that i exerted to appear at her dwelling was draining in and of itself, and i couldn't bring myself to extract the notepad to communicate unless i was sitting down.

"that was at least ten years ago, right?"

her nature conveyed verges of emotions that crossed too swiftly for me to distinguish. there was strange disappointment, uncertainty, perhaps even hostility; predilections i understood all too thoroughly, but couldn't grasp the significance of. 

her hand whisked past several undusted frames of children grinning, adolescents sulking, undergraduates waving.

"we invited you to our wedding. sent five different invitations to all the addresses we thought you might be at, even that flower shop we knew you bought with the inheritance."

the tempest of sensations appeared to calm now, leaving only subtle anger. she was infuriated at me for withdrawing from their stories, for being too much of a coward to attend my sister's ceremony. she loathed me for that, even.

but, after everything, who was i to criticize her?

"you know what, eren," she said, twirling around and facing me.

"i hope those ten years did you well. i hope those ten years of abandoning the only person who ever loved you was worth it. i hope those ten years of taking care of those stupid daisies were good."

at that moment, she rushed down the corridor and left me at a different set of opaque wooden doors, behind which all i could overhear was a little boy giggling and the pitter-patter of small footsteps.

"mommy's gonna catch you! i'm gonna get you!" yelled one behind the door as the other squealed.

i didn't know they had children. 

ten years is, after all, a long time.

i creaked the door open to glimpse inside. from the tiny interlude of space i provided myself, i could see a woman with brusque sorrel hair running on a brown carpet, avoiding the towering collections of vinyl and trailing the boy, at one point slipping onto the extensive tawny bed that extended from the crown to the core of the room.

the boy caught my eye.

"is it historia?" she asked, casually getting up to open the door much wider. "historia, dear, you don't need to peek in. we're just playing a game."

her smiling, inquisitive expression grew into a grimace of shock. she released the off-white quilt she was holding, and her eyes seemed to dash across multiple places of my appearance.

"eren?"

she stared at me as if i was a starved alien with vermins squirming in my hair.

out of the many potentialities i had imagined, including hugging me and reassuring me or even kicking me out of her residence — i had never estimated her sheer incredulity.

i made a single wave. she peered about as if it was dangerous for me to be in her house, then yanked me into the room.

"can you play in your room for a while, oakley? i have to do some grown-up business."

he grunted and marched out of the room, plucking up his sheath and slamming the door as he left.

ymir sighed and immediately hurried me to the bed.

"the fuck happened to you? it's _summer_ , eren. why are you so bundled up?"

she hauled off my hat and tugged on my jacket, but i held it close to me. she lifted an eyebrow, and there were uncomfortable seconds of silence of which i recognized was her anticipating for me to say something, _anything_.

i pulled out the notepad, unveiling the first secret of ten years' time.

_i'm sick, ymir. incredibly sick._

she was astonished by my writing, and executed a motion around her mouth, wordlessly asking me if i could vocalize. i swayed my head.

her eyes creased as if she was going to weep, another display i knew too well. as i waited for the cascade to begin streaming, she cleared her throat and pushed her hair back. not one droplet fell from her face to her lap.

ymir hadn't changed much.

"i expected you were. it's the hottest day this week and you waddle here wearing a puffy coat? and your skin, it's _much_ too pale to be healthy. one glance at you, and i bet everyone knows you're dying."

she stretched my mask downward and watched the vines developing out of my mouth to cradle the feebler portions of my face. she touched some and drew back, yelping and waving her forefinger.

i looked around. in contrast to the hallway, this room reflected ymir's demeanor. large dresser knobs were strewed across the ground, and dull red cushions were tucked into every ridge of the bedroom. the vacancy had a thick fragrance of sweetened bananas, but the atmosphere felt coriaceous. 

"i won't ask questions. i know this will be the first and last time i see you after ten years."

now, she was sitting next to me, looking undeviatingly at the wall.

_aren't you angry at me?_

she snorted. 

"i'm one rational thought from knocking your fucking head in. and trust me, i would've. miss my big day after mom gave you most of the money just to run your sunflower circus. oh, if you weren't on the brink of death, i would've killed you myself!"

_i was just chasing my dreams, and i knew that you would hinder me. if you think my dreams changed the will, then you're wrong._

when i presented it to her, she struck the notepad out of my fingers.

"but it did, you stupid deadbeat! you think mother dearest wrote her will in your favor simply because she wanted to? or did she write it that way because you had _aspirations_ while the rest of us were aimless college graduates with nothing but a degree?"

i stayed silent, for the purpose that i knew she was correct.

"anyhow, you're not here for me to yell at you. what did you want from me? did you want to say your condolences?"

_no. actually, i want you to do one favor for me, an outlandish favor that i'm sure you would never agree to under different circumstances._

she moved to seize a scanty portion of my hair. it slipped under her fingers, but i felt a meager pull from the back of my head.

she raised her hand from my hair and released a modest rose petal, letting it waft gradually to the ground.

"well, go on and say it. you know i'd do it for you no matter what."

_i want you to plan my death._


	79. roses. | seventy-nine

"mr. florist! mr. florist, wake up!"

what was once black became a beacon so intense it irritated my eyesight. i patted my hands over my eyes, trying to shield them from the sunrise, but the brambles in my fingers stabbed my eyelids until they bled.

"you have to be more careful," he sighed.

mr. rose was standing over me, his eyebrows knitted tight. they loosened when he noticed i was peering at him, but before he could get up, i clutched a tuft of the hair that drooped over pallid cheeks.

his hair was as fairly black as a crow's wing, but seemed as smooth and opulent as a feline's fur. the ends felt tentative, as if they could've stretched on ceaselessly, but were abruptly chopped away.

i retracted my hand and brought up my other one. with a deliberate and judicious move to be certain he understood, i put my two index fingers together and inclined them aloof, then brought them back in to develop a heart. i pointed at him.

without statements, recorded or expressed, i needed him to understand that i, at one moment, cherished him sincerely.

he grinned, and led my palm to his cheek, disregarding the thorns that perforated his cheek so easily, overlooking the blood seeping from the strands of my eyelashes down my eyes like they were tears.

he moved the hand away, to expose that he too, was oozing now.

"i want to say your name, mr. florist."

i wanted to smile.

my pointer finger made a horizontal line, accompanied by a sharp twisting vortex around it.

_e._

i beckoned it off to show him i was done with the beginning letter. i wasn't confident he understood it, but i desired so despairingly that he did. it was our personal language produced in instants. it would indicate absolutely nothing if he did not grasp what i was saying to him.

i drew a vertical line and a semi-rounded half-circle joining it.

_r._

he beamed wider, and my courage trembled. he seized my opposing hand and pressed against the thorns stabbing his skin. he didn't appear to mind it, even when the blood leaked out the fissures of our blending spirits.

i made the initial movement anew and he watched it with his eyes.

"an _e_ again?"

i nodded.

for the closing consonant, i did comparable gestures for the _r_ , but i allowed my finger to float all the way downward.

"errreeen... eren? you're the one who owns this shop?"

he got up, his ichor dripping to the ground and onto his attire. once more, he relinquished his ticklish broken hands to help me up but winced at the contact.

"thank you for telling me your name, eren."

though my limbs gave out, i requested them to allow me to linger a wee moment longer. i needed to hold his hand upright, as his equal. 

inadequate, decaying skin touching health. squalid gore touching fresh.

levi drew me closer, standing on his tiptoes to touch my ear.

"i only wish that you were able to say mine."


	80. roses. | eighty

mr. rose, associated more informally as levi, pounded on the door so cacophonously it imitated a horologe driving in and out of my ears, providing a headache by the time i rose awake.

"mr. florist! mr. florist, please!"

mr. florist?

i didn't believe i would hear that title again. i merely assumed that after i showed him my name, and he expressed it, that it would remain as that forever.

but, who was i to deceive? after all, i am just a measly little florist.

i hadn't realized that i locked the door.

i jumped from the chair, walked to the entrance, and shouldered it open. he burst in and practically jostled me back into the seat.

"damn, you're even paler. i didn't even know that was possible. are you okay?"

i looked at him and pointed to the ratty notebook on the counter, the hardcover outweighing the wrinkled paper below.

he fished in his rear pocket and drew out a pen. the tusche was nearing its end, but i didn't object.

_do you love me, levi?_

"do i love you? well, uh, i... i don't know. maybe."

i permitted my head to fall back and hit the drywall. 

_you're lying. i can feel it._

he stared, tilting his head a bit. he went to connect our hands, but i pushed mine away; i declared to nevermore tear his beautiful porcelain skin for the surviving remainders of my life.

_if you really did love me, then these thorns would be mere hairs._


	81. roses. | eighty-one

the single thing stranger than a florist whining was a therapist grieving. it was one of the most preposterous anecdotes you could ever come across.

but, of course, alena torres never neglected to do the unexpected.

a crack of the door allowed me to view alena in her most vulnerable disposition, acreages apart from her determination and motherly inclinations. slim trinkets of scorching tears streamed down her cheeks haphazardly, and her meager admissions of air simply to be pushed back out to create more vehement sobs went unnoticed.

there was nobody in that office to see her lamentations, none the wiser. so she raised her head and wailed until the furnace of her soul blazed and strengthened its flashes until it seized her throat.

she was so thoroughly helpless. the box of tissues she had did not help her morale or her swelled appearance.

i wandered into the room.

she jerked in shock at the door opening, but still stared at me with broad, flooding eyes. she couldn't seem to get out of her chair quick enough, briskly walking to me to encompass me in those spindly limbs of hers.

she was so familiar to me, i could detect how fast her heart was pounding and the equally expeditious breaths she was taking. i wrapped my arms around her back.

in this one moment, i felt so resolute. i wanted to bawl my eyes out with her, at least until i passed away. i wanted to curl into her arms and settle into a perpetual dream, permanently at contentment.

"eren, oh my god, eren," she said, her sounds hitching and high-pitched. she was still trembling by the time she had eventually gained the capability to speak, but it was suitable for me to hear her voice.

how could i ever say goodbye to her, though the conclusion of my story was drawing near?

"i thought... i thought you had... you look so sick," she whispered, taking one glimpse at me and then stiffening her embrace.

she sat me down and hastened back to her seat, attempting to invade the realm of professional associations again.

i had touched my pocket to get my notepad, but there was already one waiting on the desk, an elegant pen next to it.

_this is goodbye, miss alena._

she nodded, a superfluous tear befalling. she beamed as wide as she could, like a sun fighting to be illuminated past the booming clouds.

"did i ever tell you how my little boy died?"

i looked down. i could faintly recollect her comparing me to her child, but i never retained her discussing his death, just the manifestation of disheartened nostalgia.

"i was, uh, a doctor that worked until midnight treating patients with strange conditions. when he was growing up, i'd usually have a babysitter, but now that he was in high school, i entrusted himself to — well, himself.

"i had never deemed him as the desolate type, he had many friends and was very energetic. he was always the... perfect example of what a teen should be. everyone thought he would grow to be a great man, forever beautifying the world with his grace and his beauty."

she rubbed her eyes but looked to the ceiling with more intrepidity than i had ever witnessed.

"i guess that one day, he was tired of everyone's blind ignorance of how he actually felt. it was like a thin veil, or filter, placed upon everyone's eyes. i didn't see or even acknowledge his pain until i saw his limp body hanging from the chandelier."

alena torres, like ymir, was a remarkably sagacious woman. it was transparent that she missed her youth, but she stayed firm, just this once.

"he's the reason why i became a therapist. i thought human emotion was too much work, and i only focused on the physical oddities. but at that one moment, i saw how i was affecting him. i never figured out why he had... hung himself, but i knew that if i had at least had a talk with him or gotten involved, he wouldn't be dead. i would still have a child to come back home to."

she reached for my hands, but i swatted them away.

"eren, in the two years that i have been working here, there's one thing i've learned. and i want you to learn it before you leave this room for the last time."

she reaped a great breath and wiped her eyes again.

"life is nothing except an axe and a frozen sea. you take your axe, and you start hacking away until you reach that cold water to drink. the worst of people end their journeys here, drinking out of their hole that is sufficient enough to hydrate themselves and only themselves. and, well, most people take that route.

"if you are a great man, however, you will abandon your hole and help others create theirs. you will bring your axe up for those that are too frail to hack away at ice all day and night. but the most important thing," she said composedly.

"the most important thing is gaining the favor of so many around you that, when you become too frail to hack away at ice all day and night, there will be a youth to help you. and when the day comes that you are even too frail to bend down to drink the water from the hole, you will climb in it, and you will drown, just to let someone less fortunate than you drink out of your well.

"and the thing is," she cried, wheezing for air now, her gut-wrenching sobs coming out in splotched lullabies.

"you have done so much for everyone, eren. you've become so effortlessly important. and you..."

she slammed her fist against the table, but her shrieks were even louder.

"i'm gonna miss you so damn much, eren! there will be nobody to drink out of your well ever again!"

she stood up, reached over the table, and enveloped me in her arms again. she sobbed on my shoulder, and i went to rub her back.

"i hope," she said, now holding me by the shoulders.

"i hope that cold water will comfort you, eren."


	82. roses. | eighty-two

ymir was unceasingly displeased.

it was a scourge relinquished to her from her unknown father and her negligent mother, a consolidated shortage of consciousness that influenced her to become inimical and rancorous of her family. expressly of her mannequin brother, who was deemed to be the true successor of the jaeger family, rather than the bastard daughter of carla's waitressing times.

from the first breath he exerted, ymir contained such rancor for him she could only feign it as misconstrued love. she had hallucinations of clutching his dazzling eyes that glistened like cornflowers out of his sockets and carrying them in her palms until they withered. she desired to approach him with a blade and stab him until his battered organs splattered on her face.

ymir, in the juvenile, malaise era she lived in, considered that if she possibly poisoned her excellent sibling, he would taste the corresponding measure of perturbation and detachment that she had preserved her entire lifetime. perhaps, if he squandered his breath and spiraled down a black tempest of emptiness, he would understand the shiverings and tsunamis of her encephalon.

in all candor, she was covetous of eren's lifestyle.

she was overwhelmed with malice toward the cherub boy, the youth that dwelled in a permanent residence, with parents who had lucrative careers and harmonious temperaments. he was awarded grand, sentimental adolescence, while she was presented horrors of midnights in motel bedrooms alone and consistent indications that she was the foundation of all of carla's dilemmas.

she was beside herself in the fact that he received all she ever desired, while she was dropped hackneyed morsels.

such astringent abhorrence nourished and plagued ymir's brain at imminent rates from the utter representation of a parent socializing with him positively. she restrained herself in her room or lingered outside until hours after curfew, plainly so she wouldn't have to associate with him more than what was inevitable.

university followed after.

she met historia reiss, a dainty education major who would never abandon her dorm if it weren't for courses. ymir was astounded that scholars like her exist — not plummeting down expeditions of liability, but unquestionably wasn't the sort to get impeccably outfitted for a morning class.

it was the first experience ymir had of love. it was the nearest she had ever become to attaining happiness, and in a fashion, it seemed like she already did.

after graduation, ymir and historia relocated to a modest apartment only intended for one person. that precise year, eren had commenced college. there was plenty to prevent the two from braving another for a while, and ymir was euphoric.

the four years of eren's schooling were illustrious for ymir. everything was concentrated on her connection with historia, and they prospered together. she had even risen to contemplate permanent circumstances like connubiality or adoption.

carla passed two years subsequent eren's graduation, and grisha — to ymir, a stepfather who had no cognizance of his own — had deserted the homeland indefinitely. when the will was recited, it solely incorporated eren and ymir, to which eren received more than eighty percent of the capital.

the testimony itself didn't offend ymir. it was the favorability of carla's misbegotten and accepted children, and eren invariably conquered. it was an unsharpened reminder that no matter how considerably ymir transcended in growth, eren would continuously dominate her.

and that enraging division of her girlhood that she had deliberately compartmentalized liberated itself from her binds. it bathed in her profundities, producing vast drifts that advanced with a hunger to triumph, even if that meant sacrificing eren herself.

there was no requirement to do that now.

now, she stood over eren. she watched him gasp dejectedly on the floor, his mask lifted to expose those prodigious vines leisurely withdrawing themselves into his mouth. she observed them wriggle to disconnect themselves, the leafy limbs that were culpable for grasping the life of her impeccable half-brother.

there was an extended medical tube ranging from eren's abdominal wall to the core of his stomach used to feed the flowers, hindering them from reaping the nutrients from him alternatively. it was the sole device that kept him conscious to this day, but he had not satisfied himself for weeks. she wouldn't be disturbed if the body she was gazing at had already corroded.

from the minute he stood at her door, bundled up in so many layers he was smothering, she acknowledged he was to perish, yet she could not bear to grieve on his behalf. it was only a renewal of carla's entombment, another outrageously victorious moment.

she beamed and bowed down to stroke his cheek. he did not recoil, but stared into her intense, wilted eyes.

was it that eren understood her intentions all along? did he conjecture that ymir had no empathy to serve him, and was that why he became so persistent on her plotting his death?

she refocused on eren, rubbing away his tears of fulfillment, defiled with blood.

"you're such a silly boy, my dear brother. it will truly be boring without you around to taunt me in my dreams."


	83. roses. | eighty-three

on the prime of mr. and mrs. rose's matrimony, mr. rose went to visit the flower shop for the ultimate time.

it wasn't that mrs. rose was, in any manner, skeptical of mr. rose and mr. florist's association. she intentionally kept her long fingers out of affairs her fiance had not already familiarized her with. it was simply because they had organized a state transition after they were espoused.

it was time to purchase the marital bouquet.

mr. rose had questioned if he should compensate for the bridal bouquet times beforehand, allowing mr. florist time to develop it and such. but mrs. rose, the bride and terminal decision-maker of all, had merely requested twelve roses, nostalgic to how they met.

so the groom of a rather humble noblewoman stood at the entrance of the flower shop, sharpening his voice to yell for the owner to unlock the door. though this time, unlike the various separate times, the door was already unhitched, but mr. rose could not locate the florist anywhere.

black petals wafted from inside and past his head. he had never seen such obscure blossoms exit the shop before, nor ever seen them on display.

maybe this day was also an exceptional day for the florist?

levi couldn't suppose so. even if today was a day a commemoration for the man behind the counter, what could he possibly be reveling for?

levi had never considered inquiring about his story, but he assumed that he was an unfrequented fellow, with levi's appearance the only thing he looked forward to. and it was so blatantly apparent the man would oppose levi's proclamation to marry, so why would he felicitate levi with flowers?

levi took a step into the shop, noticing that these petals swimming in the ambiance were also disseminated onto the ground, amongst many other opaque colors. the sharp fragrance of citrus was so overbearing, it made him featherbrained. he crumbled to the carpet, and the door shut behind him.

the tumultuous mechanical buzzing of architecture became a distant shriek now. there was nobody on the street to testify for levi's entry or question why he never exited.

the leaves on the ground were indeed of a rose, but they felt too fleshy, appeared too vigorous to be a conventional flower. he had only seen petals resembling these twice, and those both correlated from the flowers planted in mr. florist's own abdomen.

levi gradually stood up and glanced around. if these petals were of the same flowers that feasted on the florist to shine, then why were they concealing every platform, instead of nestling conciliatingly inside the man's body?

had eren finally given up?

he reached the table now, but it was, likewise, covered in sepals. he could see a paper's salient corner stick out, and he plucked it, shaking off everything remaining on top of it.

the words seemed as if they were formulated in a fluster, and the ink had been splotched.

he hadn't hesitated to glimpse behind the bar for mr. florist by this time. instead, he stared at the note that was recorded in noxious black ink.

_thank you, levi. you truly have left me with no regrets._

levi looked beyond the counter, recognizing the last thing he aspired to see.

the hazy, unfocused eye of mr. florist peeping through a bundle of black corollas.

levi flung to his side, immediately attempting to rescue eren's corpse. the tears were too frightened to stream, and his hands were too unsteady to make a process. with progressive movement, levi realized that eren's figure was no longer recognizable.

skin had been supplanted with viridescent crawling plants that crept their way to the carpet, slithering around levi's feet like serpents. flowers had bloomed in areas where vines didn't linger, covering his adam's apple and traveling upward, even into his ear. contrary to the thousands of black flowers that coated his throat, there was a grand white rose established at the peak of his head.

levi edged closer to eren and studied his face, a soothing reaffirmation that the body with florets for fingerprints and legs so feeble they were rendered incompetent was that of mr. florist, the character he envied so fondly.

remarkably enough, despite his limbs dangling by a single thread, he smiled when he died. the smile was still present, though he was far beyond corporeal existences.

levi brought up his hand to stroke eren's thinned hair, vipers poking and prodding from within. even among such a benign touch as his, the mouth had already hung open.

a white rose like the one on his head grew on his tongue, showcasing itself in front of him, a proper distraction. the plants growing from his mouth plainly unfolded themselves from the confined space to maintain the enclosure of vines that levi was now confined in.

he could not precisely register the reality that eren's body did not stink of death, or look much like a customary carcass. his disconnected parts simply looked like props to an exhibition, the frame to a masterpiece. he seemed like a beautiful rose shrub.

levi enveloped his hand around the stem of the white rose, feeling the thorns puncture his hands, but did not cease until he ripped it out.

how could levi generate so much anguish to the man to cause him to die in a flurry of sepulture flowers, and not display the last flower the man could ever give him as contemptuously as he could tolerate?

how could levi permit eren to exist in levi's novel, as his dramatic tragedy, but not hold on to something to treasure him as his story advanced?

the flower was disconnected from eren's body. the instant that levi touched the petal, the chastity of the rose turned into a wicked black. the vines from eren's mouth had flown to levi's neck, suffocating him and stabbing him with their prickles.

that was when levi realized it.

the black petals did not symbolize eren's death, the passing of a pretty florist. it was the concluding cleanse of eren's errors, corrupt filth that swelled up over years, decades. these were the delusions and the weaknesses of mr. florist summed up in the tears of a flower.

and just like that, his transgressions had been washed clean too.

the vines from eren's mouth swiftly divided into two particular parts, some retracting back into eren's mouth and latching on to other vines. either way, levi was being pulled by the throat closer to eren, to the point that they were touching noses.

he couldn't breathe. he couldn't force the contaminated oxygen in this flower shop to go to his lungs, and he couldn't promise that he would live to experience his honeymoon.

a bundle of vines intertwined together to make one dutiful javelin pointed at levi's back and intruded through his body. his white suit altered to a profound red, and now, he was declared impassive.

he was squandering blood rapidly, but the infected plasma that trickled onto the floor solely refreshed the flowers and made them even more tantalizing.

and as levi took his final gasp for air, he gave it to eren.

he achieved the floral bond between soulmates, he fulfilled the true intentions of the roses. their crimes were shared and accumulated as one, and the peduncle on eren's head withdrew itself to form a spiraling stem on the both of their heads, producing a rose with a chroma so mahogany it would only be affiliated with pretentiousness and aloofness.

and as levi exhaled, he did not give eren a fragment of consciousness. instead, they both had given up their humanities.

the kiss of death had been performed.


End file.
